


Another Day, Another Night

by sinchronicity



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (mostly), Canon - miniseries, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Getting Together, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), Minor Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Post-Canon, Reunions, The Falcon (Bar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinchronicity/pseuds/sinchronicity
Summary: It began – like many things in Mike Hanlon’s life began – in the library.After he and his friends defeat the evil lurking underground, Mike Hanlon stays in Derry, Maine. Derry is his home, and he doesn'twantto forget. He expects a lonely existence. He expects his friends to forget and move on. He does not expect Bill Denbrough to come back for him, but Bill does, and everything starts to change.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 29
Kudos: 64





	1. are you lonely for me, too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got super into this pairing after seeing IT (1990) and absolutely had to write something for them. Like the tags say, this is set in 1990 canon, and is intended to be _mostly_ canon compliant. (Which means that this is _not_ a fix-it -- I'm sorry!) That being said, there are definitely elements from the book at play (I mean, 1990 never said the Falcon _doesn't_ exist...) and you don't particularly have to have seen 1990 to follow this. (But seriously please watch [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97secnVLp10) like....their LOVE is REAL.)
> 
> Content warnings: canonical character deaths are mentioned, although this is not a fic about grief. Period & setting-typical homophobia is mentioned/present, although this is also not a fic about that either - it's a gay wish fulfillment, first and foremost.

It began – like many things in Mike Hanlon’s life began – in the library. He was in his office, stacking several typed lists of _to-be-acquired_ titles. He had more useful things he could’ve been doing, certainly, but it was one of those days, one of those days where his mind flew away from his body and stayed up in the clouds. He had been having those days a lot, since…since whatever it was that had happened, down under Derry. He remembered it, sort of. He remembered enough to know that the beast was dead, and he was safe. Well. As safe as he _could_ be.

(A month or two ago he had driven up to Bangor for a long weekend trip. No reason for it. Just a getaway. He left on a Friday and returned on a Monday. By Saturday evening, he could not have named the other members of the Losers’ Club.

He knew that for Rich Tozier, that forgetting had been something of a blessing. He hoped like Hell that Beverly Marsh and Ben Hanscom remembered each other, wherever it was that they were. And Bill Denbrough...well. He didn’t know about him. Probably, it was good. There was the matter of his lovely wife Audra, after all. 

For Mike, the forgetting just felt awful lonely.

He had remembered their names as soon as he got within about ten miles or so of the Derry city limits.

He had not left since.) 

Carole appeared at the door of his office. “Mike,” she said. “There’s a guy here to see you…?” She trailed off at the end, like it was a question. And yeah, it was a little weird. It could be someone asking about the collection, though, or even a fellow amateur historian.

“Send him in, I guess,” Mike said. He was looking for a distraction.

The man who walked in the doorway was not a historian and he probably did not care about the Derry Community Library’s collection in the slightest. Mike stared. It was Bill Denbrough, in the flesh. 

Bill smiled, sort of sheepishly. “Hiya, Mike,” he said. 

He looked the same. His hair was perhaps slightly longer; still in the ponytail; but he had the same bangs falling over his right eye. The same glasses. The same tired, open face; the same little smile. He looked handsome in a navy-blue button down with an embroidered tie; gray slacks; and the same boots that he was wearing for a certain memorable bicycle ride. 

“Bill!” Mike said, unable to keep the surprise and excitement out of his voice. “I –” He swallowed a hundred questions. He swallowed the urge to leap up and hug him.

He settled on: “What are you doing here?”

Bill laughed. “Straight to the point, huh?”

Mike felt himself flush. “I just – Bill –”

“Everything worked out,” Bill said, softly. “Right? I saved Audra, I got her back…” he trailed off.

“I know,” Mike said. “I’m – happy for you.” And he _was_ , dammit.

Bill smiled a painful smile. “So if that’s all true – tell me why we’re, uh – no longer together.”

“What?” This was too much. Mike had to sit back down, and he thought Bill probably should too – he swiped a chair from the lounge and said to Carole, a little apologetically, that he and his visitor needed to talk, and might be some time. She nodded, a little wide-eyed, and he belatedly wondered if she might have recognized Bill. His face was on the back of a lot of books, after all.

“So,” Bill said, sort of sheepishly, over the cup of coffee that Mike had politely provided him with. “It went like this, I guess. We went back to England, to our nice little cottage. The director did not forgive me, but the producers did, and the show went on. And things were fine, for a time.” He took a sip of the coffee. Mike clutched at his own, reflexively; pretending that the warmth of it could keep him calm.

“But then,” Bill said; his voice was nostalgic, reflecting. “She told me that I was not the man I had been.” His eyes flicked up, and met Mike’s.

“And the thing was that she was right! I couldn’t remember what happened, and neither could she, but both of us knew this: we left the country at the drop of a hat, we abandoned our jobs, and we came to my hometown of Derry, Maine. Now, why would we wanna go to a place I only knew as the town where my little brother died? And what did we _do_ there? Why couldn’t we remember? And most of all – why was she _right?”_ He chewed his lip.

“Because I _was_ different. And maybe even so was she, but – I knew something had happened to her, and to me, and whatever it was, it was probably traumatic because we kept waking up – one or both of us – sweating and panting in the night. We didn’t remember our dreams. But Mike…we couldn’t keep going like that.” He frowned a little. “Or at least…she couldn’t. And Hell, I can’t blame her for that, who could?”

“I love her. I loved her when I married her, and I love her now, but – I couldn’t be angry when she wanted to stop sleeping in the same bed. I couldn’t be angry when she wanted to stop living together. I couldn’t be angry when she wanted ‘ _some time_ ,’ to think about the future of our marriage. I’m still not angry. I’m just… _lost_.” He stopped speaking then, for a long moment.

Mike’s heart was racing in his chest. He tried to ignore that. “Shit, Bill,” he said, because what else _could_ he say? “I’m sorry.”

Bill shrugged. “Like I said. She was right.”

“Still. That hurts.”

“It does. I didn’t…I didn’t know where to go. I mean, I wasn’t going to stay in England when the movie wrapped, why would I? And I wasn’t going to go back to Hollywood without her, obviously. And the only place else I’ve ever lived is Maine.” As that last statement, he smiled – and yeah it was a sad smile, but there was a genuineness to it, too.

“So you came home.”

“So, I came home.” He met Mike’s eyes, briefly. “Only, it isn’t really home anymore. I’ve rented a room at the Derry Inn again.”

Mike wanted to say, _You don’t have to do that, you can stay with me, for as long as you like._ But he bit his tongue.

“Welcome back,” he said instead. “At least you don’t have to help kill an evil spider this time.” He was instantly appalled at himself for the joke, but Bill looked shocked for a moment – and then he laughed, a bright and genuinely amused sound.

“Fuck!” he said. “You’re right. You’re right there, Mikey.”

He loved that damn nickname. Especially when Bill said it.

“Seriously, though, are you okay? Do you really wanna be here?”

Bill looked a little pensive. He adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know. I don’t _know_ where I want to be…I mean, this is home, but it’s not exactly like I remember it.” Bill sighed again. “I guess if I’m gonna explore any place, it might as well be the place I was born. Maybe I’ll learn something about myself while I’m here.”

“Maybe,” Mike allowed. He still didn’t know what to make of all this. “I don’t know all what Derry has to teach.”

“Show me,” Bill said. “You’ve been living here; you’ve _got_ to know. So show me.”

How could Mike say no to that?

“Alright,” he said. “Remember last time? There’s a lot more stops you could make on a walking tour of Derry.”

“Yes!” Bill said, seemingly delighted. “Exactly. That’s what I _mean,_ Mike. You know your way around.” His smile was wide and bold; his teeth peeked out between his lips.

“I’m no tour guide,” Mike said. His heart-rate still had not calmed, but that was alright. It was only to be expected, around Bill. “But I’ll try.”

He didn’t know what Bill had done for dinner. He didn’t even really know where Bill had been; the other man had vanished off back to the Inn until it was time to them to meet up again and in all honestly, when he was gone Mike had found it sort of hard to believe he’d really been there at all.

Mike chided himself for sharing an infant’s lack of object permanence, and tried desperately to think of places to show Bill. In reality there were a lot of them; though some of the good ones would be closed doing this so late – Mike half-wished he’d bailed on his closing shift so he could’ve taken Bill to one of the history exhibits he’d helped put together. Ah well. There was tomorrow, too – wasn’t there? How long, exactly, did Bill plan on staying?

The problem was that despite the early closing and the shut-down movie theater, Mike _knew_ where he wanted to take Bill. He _wanted_ to take Bill with him to the bar he’d already been planning on going to. It was just that he wished he didn’t want Bill to come. But he did, and he was trying not to be a coward about that, except that not being a coward in this instance meant being selfish, and he was not sure he wanted that either.

But hadn’t he _earned_ the right to be a little selfish?

He tried not to think about it like that. But he’d been alone for a long time, and he liked to think that there could be an end to that. His mother had passed away in ’87; suddenly he wished very intensely that he could ask her what she thought he should do.

Except that he wouldn’t have been able to, because he’d never told his mother what he wanted to tell Bill. Perhaps his mother had guessed it. But Bill probably had not. How could he? He grew up away from Mike. He’d forgotten Mike. It still hurt to think about.

He thought instead about the fact the Bill had told him about Audra. He’d asked, of course, but Bill could’ve shrugged him off. Bill could’ve kept a careful distance between them, but he hadn’t.

 _Well then._ He could make of that what he would.

And so it was that Mike Hanlon ended up stood in front of the entrance to the Falcon with his childhood friend.

"Here's a bit of Derry we never could've dreamed of as kids," Mike said. He was smiling through his nervousness, through the racing stampede of his heart. 

Bill laughed; his face still red from the beer they'd had on the way over. "What's that mean?"

"You'll see," Mike said. "I mean…sorry, I didn’t intend that to be ominous."

"I trust you," Bill said, suddenly serious. "Show me, Mikey." And so they stepped inside.

The Falcon was the same as it always was. Not so much dimly lit as it was _sparingly_ lit, just the right amount of light that you could see who you were talking to but not so bright that you felt exposed. Mike put a guiding hand on Bill’s elbow and led him to a table a little ways away from the bar, so that they could sit and talk.

Seated across from him, Bill raised an eyebrow, smiling gently. "You took me to your favorite bar, Mikey?"

Mike laughed, ignoring his own nervousness – it was actually sort of easy to do that, with Bill. "I don't know if I would say it's my _favorite._ But it's the only bar of its kind in Derry."

Bill's brow furrowed, and Mike could feel his curiosity, gentle and nonthreatening, exploring his surroundings. His gaze lingered on a pair of men who were dancing, slow, close; serious. 

"Alright," Bill said, softly. "I see, I think."

"Do you?" 

Bill cocked his head. "Well, I don't know, Mike. Do I?" 

He had never really expected to get this far, was the thing. To have to…tell somebody, explicitly. It was a helluva lot difference from just meeting a guy here; you both knew what you wanted in that case. And…telling an old friend...well. He only had six of those and two of them were dead. 

Mike said, "I've lived in Derry for a long time." It was a pointless thing to say; Bill knew that. But if this was a story then that was the start of it. 

Bill said nothing, but he nodded. He was bouncing his leg slightly against his bar stool; perhaps not quite so relaxed as he seemed.

"I learned a lot about the beast under Derry in that time. But…I mean, that wasn’t my _life._ It couldn’t be. There were ups and there were downs –” (very dark downs, even –) “But for a lot of that time apart I was just living, the same as all of you…" He laughed. "Well. Not quite as successfully."

Mike's hands were on the table; a sort of unconscious peace offering. Bill reached across and touched them, very lightly. 

"You were a damn good lighthouse keep; I'd say."

"Thank you, Bill. But I guess what I mean is a lot of the time I spent _living,_ I spent here at the Falcon."

"Never thought I'd see a place like this in Derry," Bill said lightly. 

"It's got kind of a funny story behind it, actually. But there's a story for another night."

For a long moment, Mike looked at Bill and Bill looked around the bar, a small but seemingly genuine smile on his face. It was a quiet night and Mike was grateful for that in a way that made him feel sort of guilty, but…

"Oh, Hell," he said. "This is ridiculous. Two grown men shouldn't beat around the bush like this. Not after what we've been through together. What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm a homosexual."

Bill smiled. "I figured as much. I...thank you for telling me; is that what I'm supposed to say?"

"I don't know about 'supposed to.' What do you _want_ to say?"

"That this doesn't change anything between us. But you knew that already."

"Did I?"

Bill's smile went sort of sad and then he did something quite sweet; he took one of Mike's hands between his own and just held it. 

"I hope so," he said. "I hope you did. And if this place is important to you and to your life then I'm really glad you shared it with me."

It was very nearly too much; Mike's face was heating up and his heart was surely racing and his hands felt a little tingly; he snatched them away from Bill, and stood up abruptly.

Bill blinked, standing up to, albeit slowly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Mike said sharply. "Uh. No." 

"What can I do?"

"Just – I need a minute." He did not even know _why_ he was not alright, when everything had gone so well, but –

He turned away from Bill, and saw with no small embarrassment that several other patrons had seen his distress, and were heading over. They were two white guys; Mike had seen them several times before but didn't know their names. 

"Everything okay?" The shorter of the couple said. "You seemed a little uncomfortable." He looked at Bill, who met his eyes easily.

"I'm fine," Mike said. "Just...it's nothing. I'm good, thank you."

The shorter man was still looking at Bill, suspiciously; Mike glanced back at him but he didn't think that his friend looked any more out of place than any of the straight-passing guys who frequented the Falcon – but then, Bill did not frequent, and new faces meant suspicion, sometimes.

"Well, alright," his defender said, frowning. "But just let us know if you need anything, Mike." 

"Thanks," he said, feeling even more awkward that he didn't know their names. "Will do."

They walked away, and Bill watched them go, curiously.

"Friends of yours?"

"I don't…I'm not sure of their names," Mike admitted. He laughed uncomfortably.

"They knew yours, though." 

"People...know who I am."

"Is that difficult?"

"It...can be." _Just being one of this cursed town's very small handful of black homosexuals, what could be hard about that, Billy?_ But of course Bill knew that. That's why he was asking. 

"And here I thought Ben was famous," Bill smiled. "But seriously, are you sure you're okay?"

 _I am not sure at all,_ Mike thought.

"Do you want to leave?" Bill asked. The dim lighting was flattering on him, although the candle-light splintered off his glasses, hiding his eyes.

"I want another drink," Mike said. Bill's grin curved up at him from across the table, small but genuine.

"Sit tight," Bill said, standing. "I'll get it. Another beer?"

Mike sat, and ran a hand over his temple, over the gray in his hair. Suddenly he was tired, but he really didn't want to go home yet. It was selfish, maybe...but he liked seeing Bill here, in this place. It made it seem like Bill was a real part of his life. 

"A rum and coke," he said. "Please. If you don't mind." 

Bill just smiled again, and nodded.

Mike watched Bill walk away – and smiled; he still got a kick out of the ponytail – and then he turned to look around him. To his left, a cute young couple was passing a drink back and forth. He felt the familiar longing – it was so odd to imagine, ever having a boyfriend that young, that publicly. They couldn't be older than twenty-five. Mike made himself look away. He stared at his hands instead; but that was depressing. His hands looked old and worn. 

He heard Bill before he saw him. "One rum and coke for you, sir," he said, and passed Mike the drink. "And a whiskey sour for me." Another small grin.

Mike laughed. "You don't have to match me drink for drink, Bill."

Bill laughed. "I'd be stupid to try. I mean, you're…" a light blush crossed his face. "Uh. Tall."

Mike smirked. "And you're not Big Bill anymore."

Bill snorted. "You know, no one ever called me that after I left Derry."

"Because you stopped growing?"

"Oh, shut up!" But he was smiling, open-mouthed. The tension between them had passed. 

The Falcon was the sort of place where you came to dance, or find someone to go home with, but their drinks weren't bad, weren't bad at all. Bill wandered off for more of them, and came back with an absurd tiki creation that was definitely not another rum and coke.

"It was recommended by the bartender," Bill said, sheepishly. "And he was...convincing." 

Mike laughed, and also ignored the heat in his face, because he knew the bartender, and he knew what Aaron was trying to do.

"Since I don't _actually_ want either of us drunk, I'm gonna suggest we split this," he told Bill.

"That bad?" 

"That bad."

Bill took a considering sip, and Mike watched the way his brow furrowed as he bit his lip. 

"Tastes like…" he trailed off.

"A tropical Long Island Iced Tea?"

"God, exactly! You've had it?" 

"Once or twice," Mike admitted. On those occasions, he _had_ gone home with someone, although once it'd been Aaron himself, not the man he'd bought it with. 

"It's pretty good," Bill said approvingly, taking larger draws on it than Mike thought was wise.

"Okay, short stuff, pass it over."

Bill nearly choked. "Aw, Mikey, c'mon --"

"'Lil Bill'?"

" _God_ no!" Bill's face was flushed a furious pink, from the alcohol or the embarrassment or both. 

Mike grinned, and downed a solid one third of the drink. "Being tall has its privileges," he said, voice low with faux-intensity.

"Well, as long as I don't have to call you Big Mike..."

"It doesn't sound as good without the alliteration, anyway."

"It really doesn't." Bill was grinning through his blush, and his smile was suddenly so bright that Mike had to look away.

"Here," he said, sliding the drink back across the table.

"Deciding to share?"

"I guess," Mike said. His face was in shadow, or at least, he hoped it was. He wasn't sure what Bill would see if he looked too closely, but the impulse to hide from whatever it was that was certainly there. 

They drank a fruity, ridiculous drink in a New England gay bar that had attracted its clientele originally by accident…and when they finished it, they got another, and drank until everything was funny. The realization that he'd actually come out to Bill was starting to sink in – and not only that, but it had been _fine_ , because Bill was his friend, and they loved each other, and maybe he didn't have to be alone.

Aaron caught them on their way out, his fingered brushing over Mike’s elbow. “ _Please_ tell me you’re not driving, Michael,” he said, in that easy way of his that garnered no arguments. 

“I’m not driving, Aaron,” Mike said. His head was at war with itself – full to bursting but buzzing with restlessness. “We walked here.” 

Aaron’s sculpted eyebrow raised in skepticism. Mike looked at Bill, who was humming lightly to himself, and lilting vaguely to one side.

Mike almost laughed. He could not remember the last time he’d been so happily buzzed (well, _drunk,_ despite his efforts they were both drunk –)

“We’ll take a cab,” he told Aaron, and that earned him a genuine smile.

“Be safe,” Aaron said, and turned to go back inside.

“Right,” Mike said. He was not going to need the sort of safety with Bill that Aaron thought he did. 

Speaking of Bill, his friend had started back the way they came, ambling at an easy pace. Mike jogged to catch up.

“I was thinking we should get a cab,” he said, his hand on Bill’s elbow. Bill glanced at it, and he let go. 

“Nothing more bracing than that cool New England air,” Bill said. He smiled at Mike; his eyes were very light, almost dancing. “Let’s walk for a bit.”

Mike nodded. You didn’t hail a taxi from right outside the Falcon, anyway. Even if you were Mike Hanlon and everyone already knew who you were. 

He had almost forgotten the simple pleasure of walking outside in the night, drunk – perhaps if he had been alone, he would've been worried, but he was with Bill, and some childish part of him thought Bill could, and would, keep him safe. This was such a youthful pleasure; he felt twenty-something again, like those young men at the bar. 

Bill pulled up alongside him, and bumped their shoulders together, companionably. 

"What're you thinking about, Mikey?"

"I'm thinking about being a kid again. This is a young man's game, you know, walking across town after drinks…"

"Is it?"

"You never did this in college?"

Bill huffed a laugh. "Maybe once or twice. I was so…hurried, back then...I don't know."

Mike had read Bill's early books, and thought he did know. There _was_ a frantic energy to those novels, like Bill's mind was going faster than his pen could keep up; he had to get something on the page or he'd overflow with it.

"Well, now you're all rich and successful – you can afford to go out, right?"

Bill smiled sort of sadly. "Audra and I mostly stayed in, actually."

Oh yes – of course. Because Mike did not _actually_ own Bill, did not actually have any right to him. And he'd reminded Bill of the very thing he came to Derry to forget.

"I'm sorry," Mike said. His heart-rate was _definitely_ up.

Bill shook his head, and bumped his shoulder against Mike's again. 

"Don't be sorry," Bill said. "Audra and I are stuh... _still_ friends." 

Mike didn't comment on the stutter, although he'd sort of thought Bill had lost it.

"That's good," he said tentatively. "I mean, you guys were together for a long time."

"Yes," Bill said. "She was right, though. I _am_ different now."

"You don't seem different to me."

That made Bill smile. "Well," he said. " _You_ knew me before. So maybe that means I've regressed to childhood."

Mike thought – as he so often did – of that ridiculous bicycle ride. That hadn't felt like a _regression_ , though.

“I’ll take the couch,” Mike said. He’d suggested going home, because Bill said he was hungry and Mike had food. And maybe a little bit because if he was going to be selfish once, he might as well keep at it, and he still did not want his night with Bill to end. And anyway his couch already had a blanket thrown over the back of it, because Mike knew what sort of man he was, and he liked to be comfortable when he passed out at three in the morning, unable to sleep in his actual bed. 

“Oh, come on, Mikey,” Bill said. “I’m the one who’s imposing.” His bangs were plastered to his forehead with sticky sweat, but his eyes were still, bright, alert. He smiled; one of those small smiles that did not reveal his teeth. “Besides,” he said, “I’m not even tired.” 

In truth, Mike wasn’t, either. In fact, he was still drunk, and now he was getting kinda hungry, too.

“Alright, Big Bill,” he said, easily. “We can sort that out later, then. How d’you feel about bacon and eggs?”

That got a laugh out of Bill, as well as a genuine, open-mouthed smile. 

“That,” he said, “sounds absolutely fantastic.” 

In the end, Bill took the couch, by virtue of falling asleep on it. When Mike fell asleep on that same couch, his feet hung off the end – he liked the sprawl, he had a queen bed because of it – but Bill curled himself up tight, like a balled fist. Mike slid his glasses carefully off his nose, and put a blanket over him. He wanted to do more, but he didn’t want to wake Bill up, or be inappropriate.

Instead, he went and slept in his big empty bed. 

“Good morning,” Bill said. Mike stared at him, blearily, until Bill...giggled? Who _giggled_ this early in the morning? (His best friend, apparently.) 

“Ugh,” Mike said. Or something along those lines, anyway.

“Mikey,” Bill said, eyes wide behind his spectacles, “Are you _hungover?_ ” 

“ _Ugh,_ ” Mike said, again, with slightly more enthusiasm.

“Wasn’t I supposed to be the one who couldn’t hold his liquor?” Bill said, still wide-eyed. “On account of my being shorter than you?” 

“For God’s sake,” Mike said – the first words he spoke that morning. Bill laughed, bright and impossibly cheerful. When Mike looked at the clock, it was not early morning at all but rather almost noon, which perhaps explained where Bill’s energy came from.

They had some toast and orange juice and Mike started to feel a lot better. He should’ve known better than that stupid fruity drink. He was forty years old, for Pete’s sake. It was ridiculous.

“I’m sticking to the beer next time,” he said, as Bill was on his way out the door to shower and change into his own clothes. Bill’s laughter was the last thing he heard before his front door banged shut. It was a nice note to end it on.

It was Friday afternoon and Mike Hanlon arrived at work two hours later than intended. He knew he looked like a mess, and he was a little tired. But he was also happy; happier than he had been in a long time.

Several hours later, Bill showed up again. He had a thick binder under one arm, and a creased paperback in the other. 

“I’ll just set up shop here for a bit,” he told Mike pleasantly. “Try to get some writing done.”

“Of course. You working on a new book? How’s it going?”

Bill bit his lip as he considered. “Well, it’s going,” he said, and laughed. After a moment, he shook his head. 

“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t know. This one feels different, I guess. I want to take my time with it.” 

“So, you’ll be writing it in five months instead of three?” 

“Ha. You got me.” He set his stuff down, and grinned. “Maybe this time people will actually like the end of it.” Bill’s last several novels had been accused of being needlessly grim. (Mike had read them; and they sort of were – but the latter half of the ‘80s had felt like that for him, too, and he kind of liked the validation.) 

For several hours, they simply worked, quietly, in each other’s periphery. 

When Bill got up to leave, several hours before closing time, he came over to where Mike was copying some notices. Bill put his hand on Mike’s elbow; Mike did not flinch or pull away. Bill smiled up at him.

“I think I’ve hit a bit of stride,” he said. “I like to ride these things while they last” – the smile turned rueful – “sometimes too long. So I’ll be occupied tonight, but I was thinking, if you don’t have plans, how do you feel about dinner tomorrow? We can continue our walking tour.” 

Mike did not have plans. He never had Saturday night plans. 

“Sounds good, Bill,” he said. “Good luck with the writing bug.” 

Bill saluted him, cheerfully, and exited with his bundle of notes and his untouched paperback novel.

Around five minutes after Bill left, Carole approached Mike with a slight flush in her cheeks. He thought maybe she was going to ask to leave early. 

Instead, she said, “Mr. Hanlon, was that –” her arm flexed and he realized she was pointing at the little display for _The Glowing_ — “Um. Was that William Denbrough?” 

Mike blinked. Then, he blinked again. So Carole _had_ recognized him. He’d been so caught up in his own mind that somehow, he had genuinely forgotten – again – that Bill was, in fact, a best-selling novelist; one who had been until very recently married to a famous actress. 

“Yes,” he said, eventually.

Carole’s eyes were very wide. “Are you guys friends?”

Mike smiled at her. He set down his papers. “Bill and I knew each other as kids.” 

Her eyes were now saucers, or perhaps spotlights. “And you call him _Bill_?”

Mike couldn’t help it; he laughed. He rarely got to talk about Bill; and when he did it was usually to a certain bartender at a certain bar. This was kind of a nice change. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“You set up displays for his books all the time, and you never mentioned that!” 

“Well,” he said, lightly. “We hadn’t spoken for a long time, until earlier this year.”

Carole, who was really too perceptive for her own good, said, “Wait, was he who was staying at your place when you were in the hospital?” 

“Yeah, that was him.” Him and his wife, but we don’t need to talk about that…

Carole looked slightly dazed. “Wow,” she said. “Are you gonna have him sign his books? Do you think he’d sign one of _my_ copies?” 

Mike laughed again. “I’m sure he would, but I didn’t know you were such a fan!” 

The flush on Carole’s face transformed into a full-blown blush. She shrugged, helplessly, and well – that’s how Mike felt about Bill, too. 

“I didn’t really read them for a while,” she admitted. “But, I don’t know...you always have his books up. There aren’t exactly a lot of authors from Derry. I got curious. The first one I read was just okay, but then I read _The Smile_. It just…”

Mike knew that one; it was about werewolves, and transformations, and running away. He liked it, too.

“I just liked it,” Carole said, simply. “It wasn’t very scary. But it was good.” 

Mike smiled at her. He wasn’t sure how to tell her that he understood. 

“Bring your copy with you the next time you come in, he said, gently. “I’m sure Bill would be more than happy to sign it for you.” 

She beamed at him. It was very sweet. He really was very fond of her. “Thanks, Mr. Hanlon,” she said. 

Mike Hanlon went home early, which was rare. He sat on his beleaguered couch – it really was not comfortable enough to sleep on; he was not sure how Bill had done it – and he thought about reading a book or turning on his rarely-used television set. But he just kept thinking about Bill. 

Bill in his home; Bill on his couch; Bill under his blanket. Bill, who now knew something about his adult self that no other childhood friend had ever known. Something about Mike that his own family had not and did not know. 

Bill was sitting in his rented room right now, writing. 

Mike had not written anything in months. The chronicles of Derry were over, because the curse was broken. And also, he didn’t know how the Hell to write about any of things he was feeling.

Still…

He went into his bedroom and found one of his many notebooks. He opened it to a blank page and marked the date at the top. And then, he wrote:

_I don’t know where to start with these past months so I will not. This is not a narrative. It’s for me._

_What do I feel, now that Bill is here? What am I supposed to feel?_

_I find myself very pleased that he came here, without me asking. He came because he wanted to. I wanted to see him again, very much. Ben and Beverly have each other. I love Richie, but Bill was always different._

_(I know what the difference is and there is no point in not admitting to that in my own damn journal-keeping. The difference is I love Richie in a purely platonic way. It is as simple and as terrible as that.)_

_If I am being dramatic well then I think I have earned that right._

He read over the little that he’d written and became suddenly dreadfully tired. He went into the bathroom and washed his face and brushed his teeth. By the time he was done that he wanted nothing else but to climb under his covers and sleep; so he did. 

“Oh, wow,” Bill said, appreciatively as they stepped through the doorway, “This place _is_ fancy.” He was wearing a black button-down with a maroon tie, and black slacks. Mike was wearing a maroon sweater over his own starched white collared shirt, and he couldn’t help thinking that they matched.

“I told you,” he said, smiling, “Derry’s gotten _nice_.” 

Bill wrinkled his nose. There was some gel in his hair, holding back the slight wave of his long bangs, and Mike was charmed that he’d dressed up for this.

“Too nice, maybe,” Bill said. “I miss the Paramount.” 

“The banks will buy up anything,” Mike said, nodding. “But at least we can complain about it over a decent meal.”

Bill laughed, and he was still smiling, wide, when the pretty young waitress came to seat them. 

The food was good, and so was the bottle of wine they split, but most of all so was the conversation. It turned, perhaps inevitably, to old friends, and Bill had Mike laughing with tales of a mismanaged wildlife excursion with Stan that ended with both boys coated in mud and very few birds spotted. It was a funny story, and his laughter was genuine, but he was not the slightest surprised to feel the pinprick of tears behind his eyes. He wiped at them, and saw the Bill was watching him with a matching sad smile. 

“I just wish…” Bill said, after a moment. “I just wish we could’ve met him, at least once, when he was all grown up. You know?” 

“I know,” Mike said. “Or I – I wish I’d never called him, and he could’ve stayed safe.” 

Bill sighed. “If you hadn’t called all of us then there’d still be kids going missing every day in this place. Instead, it’s just...a town.” He waved a hand at their surroundings. “A _nice_ town, even.” 

“But,” Mike said. “It’s _Stan._ And Eddie. Our friends.” 

Bill sighed again. He wiped quietly at his own eyes. 

“Yeah,” he said, eventually. “Yeah. Our friends. Doesn’t seem fair that it had to be us.” 

_Nothing fair about fate or magic or whatever the Hell all that was,_ Mike thought. But his voice was too choked up to speak, and he simply let the moment hang in the air, with all its grief.

Eventually, Bill bit his lip, and looked up at Mike with a sudden intensity. His eyes were unreadable in the flickering lamplight. 

“I want to ask you something,” Bill said, and there was a gravity to his tone that inspired Mike to listen close, “But it might be...I don’t know. Inappropriate, I guess.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Before we went into the sewers,” Bill said, “Eddie...he told us something. About himself.”

Mike’s heart started-up double-time. He almost told Bill to stop, right then and there, because surely this _was_ inappropriate. But it was also about Eddie. And he missed him. 

“Yeah?” he said again, voice carefully light. 

“Yeah,” Bill said, and his eyes flitted up for a brief moment, then dropped back down to the table. He took a long sip of his drink.

“At dinner,” he said, “Eddie told us he had a girlfriend, right? Well. Under Derry he told us that was untrue. Because he’d never been with anyone he hadn’t loved, and he only loved...us.”

 _Oh, Eddie,_ Mike thought.

“And I just – Mike, do you think –”

Yes, Mike thought. _I do, Bill._

“Do you think Eddie was gay?” There was a weight to that question, and a sadness in his voice that showed Mike that Bill knew the tragedy in what he said. Mike sat with that question, for a minute. He took a sip of beer. 

“Normally,” he said, “I wouldn’t presume to answer that sort of question. But. It’s _Eddie._ And maybe I can’t _know_ but for the record I do think the answer is probably ‘yes.’”

Bill was quiet for a long moment. Eventually, he took his glasses off, and folded them on the table. He wiped at his eyes. 

“That hurts, Mikey,” he said. “I don’t know why it hurts so bad, but…”

“I’m glad he told you,” Mike said. He wanted very badly to reach across the table and hold Bill’s hand in his, but he could not make himself do it. “I...that was probably big for him.”

Bill shook his head. “But he never left home,” Bill said. “He still lived with his mother, you know? And she was...she was…”

What could either of them say about Sonia Kaspbrak that the other was not already thinking? Suddenly, Mike felt very close to tears, too.

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Bill said. “I – he – it’s _Eddie._ ” 

Little Eddie Kaspbrak. Well-loved, and well-missed by the people who remembered him. A good kid; sort of touchy, but there was a sweetness in him, too. The best way Mike could think to describe him was that he was gentle, but not delicate. He’d been a little surprised by Eddie’s adult self, at how easily he smiled and how personable he was. It’d been good to see, though.

(He remembered, suddenly, something that Sonia Kaspbrak would not have approved of: Eddie and Richie racing each other across a stretch of field in the Barrens. Eddie won, and any thought that Richie let him do so vanished from your mind when you looked at Richie’s expression of wonder and delight at seeing Eddie so easy, laughing, and barely out of breath at all.)

“It’s not fucking fair,” Bill said, eventually. “He told us that because he was brave and he could’ve changed his life. I know it.” 

“I think,” Mike said, and God his voice sounded awful. He sipped at his beer again, but it was starting to taste sour in his mouth. “Yeah,” he settled on, eventually. “I think you’re right, Bill. I wish he had that chance.”

That’s all it came down to, in the end. 

“I f-feel like I failed him,” Bill said. “I – don’t look at me like that. It’s not a guilt thing. W-we _all_ failed him.”

Mike gave a watery laugh. “It’s not a guilt thing?”

“Okay,” Bill said, smiling a haggard smile, “It’s a little bit of a guilt thing. But Mikey, I luh...I loved him. And now he’s gone and…I _forgot_ him, and I don’t want to...it hurts, but…”

 _It hurts, but just living in this goddamn world hurts._ “Why do you think I never left Derry?” Mike said, quietly. “Forgetting is more pleasant, maybe. But someone has to...I don’t know. Light the memorial candles, I guess.” 

Bill looked at him, then, and nodded, sort of forcibly. Like he was trying to convince himself, maybe.

The conversation moved to other topics, but when they stepped out into the cool night air, Mike was still feeling a little maudlin. He was thinking that maybe in the morning he would go to his mother’s old church and light a literal candle for Eddie. It would be inappropriate to do so for Stan, but he kept thinking of a conversation he’d had with Eddie about communion and the Savior, and Eddie’s curious eyes and sharp responses. 

(Of course, if he tried to go to Georgia to set a stone on Stan’s grave, he’d forget who Stan was by the time he got there. So that was horrible, too.) 

“I could use another drink,” Bill said lightly from beside him. “Want to hit up a bar before calling it a night? Maybe that one from Thursday.” 

Mike wasn’t sure why Bill suggested the Falcon – perhaps it was because of Eddie, or perhaps because it was simply the only bar in Derry that he knew – but it felt right to Mike, too. 

“Sure, Billy,” he said, and Bill smiled up at him, bumping his elbow against Mike’s in that same easy camaraderie.

On a Saturday night, one could see the Falcon as crowded as it ever was. There was a group of guys who’d clearly come down from elsewhere, Bangor maybe, in search of a new experience, and they were far louder than the usual crowd. Mike and Bill walked into a sea of mildly bemused regulars – though some of the younger Derry locals were up and mingling. He saw the young couple from a few nights previous, their arms looped around each other, grinning at their newfound friends. 

“Back again so soon?” a voice called, and Mike turned; it was Aaron.

“You know me,” Mike said – he was feeling so strangely brave, still – “I can’t stay away.”

Aaron smiled. He was dressed in his casual wear – he was off the clock. His jeans were nearly too-tight, but Mike thought he looked quite smart. He was charmed because Aaron was charming, and handsome – out of Mike’s league, really, but he was so kind. 

“It’s a madhouse in here,” Aaron said. His hand was tapping a staccato rhythm onto his thigh. Mike recognized that simple anxiety for what it was; Aaron was excited but scared, too – because that’s what happened, that’s what living in Derry meant. 

Aaron’s eyes dipped over to Bill; Mike was sure that he recognized him from the other night. Would he comment on the fact that Mike was here again with the same man? That was rare. But then, Aaron was both discreet and supportive.

Aaron sighed, and plucked a cigarette from his pocket. “Got a light, Mike?”

Mike shook his head; he didn’t smoke.

“I do,” Bill said, lightly, surprising them both. Bill produced a delicate silver lighter from one pocket. He waited for Aaron to hold the cig to his lips, then flicked it open. The flame threw light against his face; despite the casual tone, Bill looked as oddly somber as Mike still felt.

“Thanks,” Aaron said, blowing the smoke out one side of his mouth. It was impossible to tell whether that had impressed him.

“You two have fun in there,” he said. “If one of the new boys tries to sell you something, say no, okay?”

Mike laughed. He gripped Aaron’s shoulder and squeezed briefly. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said.

“Yeah, sure. That’s what they all say…”

With his heart lightened, Mike led Bill inside.

“Christ,” Bill said. “There’s a lot of young guys in here. I feel old. Are we old, Mikey?” 

“We’re a little old,” Mike said. He was almost forty-one. “And I know what you mean. I…” he trailed off.

“What?”

Mike didn’t really want talk about it, but he thought maybe he should. And he was still thinking about their dinner topics – if Eddie had been brave enough, well then – Mike should _try,_ right?

“I guess I get kind of jealous when I come here,” Mike said. “Seeing guys that young. I mean. I didn’t…I guess I just feel like I missed out on that.”

Bill was watching him with keen eyes. “I won’t disrespect you by saying I know what you mean,” he said. His voice was very gentle. “But I think I understand the idea. But it’s not too late, Mikey. It’s never too late.”

“Right,” Mike said, feeling squirmingly embarrassed. “I know.”

Bill laughed, suddenly, and elbowed Mike gently in the side. “But then, what do I know? I just got divorced. I’m not one to fucking talk.”

Mike found himself laughing, too. “So both of us are a complete mess!”

“A-yuh,” Bill said, nodding. “Wanna do tequila shots and pretend we’re twenty-one?”

“That’s a _terrible_ idea, Bill.”

Bill’s smile flashed up at him. “Everyone has terrible ideas when they’re twenty-one.”

“Yeah, and then you _grow up_ —” But he was letting Bill pull him towards the bar, anyway.

The tequila burned his throat. Of course it did, that was part of the package, but – Mike bit into the flesh of the lemon. Around him was noise and light; more noise and light than he was used to from the Falcon.

“Shots?” A voice called. “Are you guys doing shots?” Mike turned. It was a young guy; white, skinny; in a mesh shirt and tight pants. Mike hoped he had something to wear over his shirt when he went outside.

“Happy Saturday!” Bill said; grinning a toothy smile at the stranger.

“Bottoms up,” the man said, and winked at Bill, tipping his own glass into his mouth. The light glinted off the clear liquid. Mike looked at Bill for his response; his face was a little flushed, but he looked mostly amused. Mike had another sudden and impossible vision of the past; he remembered being thirty, ten years ago – in the aftermath of his quarter-life crisis trip down under Derry. He knew sort of how Bill had looked back then, from his author photos – he papered that Bill over the one before him; thirty-years-old Bill Denbrough with his hair down, and no glasses yet, or at least he didn’t wear them for the pictures. It was selfish, but he wanted it – he wanted that Bill to have been with him.

Mesh Shirt was up close to the contemporary Bill Denbrough, now. “Can I buy you another?”

Bill’s eyes flicked up and down the man – Jesus Christ. Mike was not watching Bill check out another man; right? He couldn’t be. Mesh Shirt was taller than Bill; broader, too. He watched Bill’s hand flex on his empty shot glass.

“Sure,” Bill said, and _What the Hell?_

Mesh Shirt gripped the back of Bill’s neck briefly – flirtatiously – Christ, did Bill realize what he was doing? He had to. Surely heterosexual flirting was not so different.

Bill’s face was flushed; Mike watched the pink of his tongue as he licked the salt off his hand. He had gentle hands, with slender fingers; he’d replaced his wedding band with a thin ring on his right middle finger. He threw back the shot and Mike watched his throat; watched how Mesh Shirt was watching, too. He wanted to grab Bill by the elbow and yank him away. Instead, he turned towards the bartender, and asked, sort of weakly, for a shot of vodka.

The barkeep was one of Aaron’s friends; young and light-skinned. He gave Mike a sympathetic look and poured him a very generous shot; Mike tipped him generously in return and let that alcohol burn his throat, too. When he dared look over again, Bill and his courter were pressed close in conversation; Mike watched as Mesh Shirt joined hands with Bill and pulled him away from the bar. _What do I do?_ was all his mind could produce, helpless. He couldn’t do anything as Mesh Shirt leaned in, and kissed Bill on the mouth.

There was more close conversation; some laughter from Bill, hidden behind his hand. Mike set his empty glass on the bar counter; he saw that the barkeep was watching them, too.

Danny nodded towards the pair. “You came with Ponytail, right? He’s not drunk, is he?”

Mike winced. “He’s not drunk,” he said. “He’s _straight_.”

Danny raised both eyebrows, as the two of them watched Mesh Shirt pull Bill’s shirt-tails out. “Huh,” he said. Mike groaned, and covered his face with both hands.

“Want another shot?” Danny asked, not unkindly.

“I’m alright,” Mike said, and he watched as Bill took hold of one of Mesh Shirt’s hands, and leaned in and said something. Suddenly, they broke apart, and Bill came back to the bar.

“I need some air,” he said, lightly, and grabbed Mike by the elbow. Blinkingly, Mike followed him. He caught a glimpse of Danny, who shrugged at him. What the Hell was happening?

They made it outside, and Bill leaned against the brick wall of the Falcon. Mike watched him tuck his shirt-tails back in. Bill took out his lighter, and flicked it open.

“Since you don’t carry a lighter, I guess you don’t have any cigs on you, either?” he said, hopefully.

“I don’t smoke,” Mike said. “Bill, what the Hell was that?”

Bill shrugged, and put his lighter away. “I don’t know, Mikey, I’m just trying to have a good night out.”

 _By making out with random men?_ “You shouldn’t have let him buy you a drink,” Mike said, instead.

“Why not?”

“You’re leading him on!”

“I don’t mean to. I’m just trying…”

“Trying to _what?_ ”

“I don’t know! Mike, Christ, I don’t know –” Bill looked up at him, sort of pleadingly; Mike hadn’t even realized he’d moved to stand right in front of Bill until that moment. Bill was still a little flushed, and his lips were red, from – from that man _kissing_ him. It made something in Mike boil up. He was more than annoyed, he realized; he was properly pissed off, and why? He was jealous, he could admit that, but he shouldn’t be, because obviously Bill hadn’t intended for any of that to happen.

Bill licked his lips, but instead of speaking, he just shrugged again. He looked up at Mike, and met his eyes, though it was too dark to read any expression there. He licked his lips again.

 _He’s trying to kill me,_ Mike thought. _He’s actually trying to make me suffer._ What the Hell. He pressed one hand against the wall; it was cool against his sweaty palm. Bill looked up at him, and cocked his head.

“Why are you so worked up, Mikey?” he said.

If he hadn’t said _Mikey_ then maybe Mike could’ve avoided what he did next; but the nickname was too much; Mike loved it too much; he loved Bill too much. He did not say a word; but he leaned in, and he kissed Bill on the mouth.

For a moment that was all it was; Bill’s mouth under his; both of their lips kind of dry in the cool night air; and then – Bill’s hand reached up to grip Mike’s cheek, the side of Mike’s head; his fingers in Mike’s hair. Bill opened his mouth to Mike, and Mike’s heart went haywire _;_ he wanted to cry at the heat of Bill’s lips and tongue.

He wanted to pull away, but he also wanted it to never end – if this was what he got, if this was all he ever got, Bill in this absurd mood, then – he shifted them both, cupping his fingers around Bill’s chin –

“Mike Hanlon, Christ, _you_ know better –” Aaron’s voice. Mike jumped away from Bill. Bill’s hands were still half-raised in the air; he looked at Mike dazedly. His glasses were askew on his face.

“Not that I don’t understand the impulse,” Aaron said, and his put a kind hand on Mike’s shoulder. “But there were some guys hanging around here earlier. Straight men, you know? Best get inside, now.” 

Mike nodded, his face in embarrassed heat. The protective circle of the Falcon did not _actually_ extend outside its walls, and now the moment between them was soundly shattered.

“Thanks, Aaron,” he said softly, and he headed back inside. He heard Bill following at his heels but not turn around to check.

They made it to a dark corner before Mike had gathered his courage to speak. 

"Bill, I'm sorry." He could not see Bill's eyes in the dim light. 

"Mike –"

"No, let me – that was _dangerous,_ Bill, you heard Aaron –"

"I got carried away –"

 _No,_ Mike thought, hazily. _I did, and my stupid childhood crush reared its head and you were right there._ But why'd you kiss me back?

"We should just call it a night."

"Oh, c'mon, Mike, it's all of ten in the evening!" 

It was. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. He couldn't parse what he could see of Bill's expression. Bill tilted his head, slightly. 

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Mike," he said. “I really don’t – I don’t know what I –” But Mike was tired of Bill’s weird behavior, and of his excuses.

"We should not have done that," Mike said. It was the simplest way he could say whatever it was that he meant. 

"I –" Bill cut himself off. "Okay. Sorry."

They stood there having apologized to each other. Bill's mouth was a sad line, his lips pressed tight.

"Maybe we _should_ just call it a night," Bill said, eventually. The bottom of Mike's stomach was dropping out.

"I'll give you a ride to the Inn," he said. Bill nodded. Mike drove him his rented room and then drove himself home. They had been quiet on the drive, but Mike’s heart-rate was still up even when he was home.

“Shit,” he said aloud, into the emptiness of his home. He hoped he hadn’t just ruined everything; but that thought wasn’t _fair_ , because it was Bill, dammit, it was Bill who – flirted with some strange man at the bar, and kissed him, and if Bill was going to have some bizarre guilt crisis about their dead gay friend, then he could have it with Mike –

He cut himself off there. It was terribly cruel to blame this on Eddie. Mike closed his eyes. He’d talk to Bill, in the morning, and it would fine. It would be normal.

The coward in Mike wanted to meet in a coffee-shop or something, but that wouldn’t work – they needed to talk, properly, and he knew that. He called the Derry Inn at around 10 am, and Bill picked up right away when the guy at the front desk rang his room.

“Mike?” he said, a little warily.

“Yeah. Bill, look, I’m sorry –”

But Bill cut him off. “No, I’m sorry, Mike –”

“Let me talk –”

“I just –”

They both stopped, and were quiet, until Bill laughed, softly. “Sorry,” he said. “You go first.”

“We need to talk,” Mike said. “And talk properly. Look, come over to my place, and we can talk over coffee, okay?”

“Right now?”

“I – whenever, Bill. Just, you know, soon.”

“Okay,” Bill said, his voice low. Soothing. “Okay. I’ll shower and be right over.”

“See you, Big Bill,” Mike said, because his heart was hurting, and he wanted to make Bill laugh. It worked, and he set the receiver down to the reassuring sound of it.

“Morning, Mike,” Bill said, when Mike opened the door for him. Mike smiled, and let him in. The coffee was ready; he passed Bill a cup, and down they sat, to have a conversation that Mike did not want to have.

“It’s just,” he said, “That you scared me last night, Bill. I don’t understand what it is that you want.”

Bill shook his head a little, leaning back in Mike’s chair. He looked tired. “I don’t either. That’s the problem. I guess I thought that coming here might help me figure it out. But, well…it hasn’t.”

“I just worry that you’re being reckless,” Mike said. “I mean, you’ve been separated from Audra for how long, exactly?”

“A month,” Bill said. He sipped his coffee. “It’s…yeah. I see what you’re saying, Mikey.”

“If she made you happy –” Oh Lord, this was hard. “I don’t – I don’t want you to throw that away.” _Don’t end up like me, forty-goddamn-years-old and alone, stuck wanting something I can’t have_ …

Bill took another sip of his coffee. The coffee that Mike had made for him. “You’re telling me to leave, aren’t you?”

“No – I – hell, Bill, it’s not like I own all of Derry, you can do whatever you want.”

Bill’s expression was unreadable. “But you think it would be for the best.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

Bill smiled at him; that tucked-in smile that hid his teeth. “Mm. I want that for you, too, you know.”

“Thanks.”

Bill sighed. “Well, I guess you’ll think this is good news, then. I called my travel agent last night…I have a flight out this upcoming Friday.”

 _Well, shit._ He hadn’t expected that.

“Back to England?”

“Yeah. I don’t – I guess I want to make things cleaner. With Audra.”

There went his stupid heart. Mike had to look away for a pathetic moment, just to compose himself. “That sounds good, Bill. I – there’s a few other places in Derry you might like; I don’t mean to chase you away –”

“More of the walking tour?”

“If you want.” _Only if you want._

“That sounds good,” Bill said, and his smile turned slightly more genuine.

It was Sunday, and that didn’t really mean anything to Mike anymore, but it had, once. He took Bill to Derry Methodist, which was an old and old-fashioned church. Mike held the taper light over the slender memorial candle.

“This was the Kaspbraks’ church,” he said. “I don’t – maybe it’s not appropriate –”

“No,” Bill said, and he smiled. “I think Eddie’d like it. Really.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. He didn’t know what to say, other than that.

The rest of their little tour our wasn’t quite so somber, but Mike still had a moment where he was struck by that familiar sadness; as they sat on the memorial bench near the Standpipe. He was watching Bill toss rocks into the water.

“I wish I could do something symbolic for Stan, too,” he said. “You know, the way Derry’s growing, maybe we’ll even get a synagogue down here.”

Bill smiled. “Wouldn’t that be something, huh? Stan wouldn’t have been the only Jewish kid in our class. Imagine that!”

“Imagine Henry Bowers’ _reaction_ to that…”

Bill laughed. “No thanks. May he rest in peace, and all…”

“But I hope there’s never another man like him?”

Bill leaned back on the bench; he smiled easily up at Mike. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Mikey.”

Mike had no real reason to be shy, but Bill made him feel about sixteen years old sometimes, so he did. “I helped put this together,” he said, as Bill peered at the artifacts on current display at the old county jail-turned-museum.

“Oh?” Bill raised a – genuinely interested, seemingly – eyebrow at him.

Mike felt his face heat. Even after – whatever it was that had happened between them – he was still a little awkward in this; how embarrassing.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s just – local stuff, you know? But I like it. I like the history of it. I think my dad would’ve appreciated it, too.”

Bill smiled at that. “Your dad, man. I don’t know that we really could’ve fought It without the stuff he had, the work he put in, you know?”

 _Oh._ He’d thought that sort of thing many times before; it was something else that Bill had, too. “Yeah,” he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “Yeah, it’s – yeah. My dad was a great guy.”

“It’s still amazing to me,” Bill said, softly. “That he stayed. I mean – here? With people like Butch Bowers?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I mean – where else would he go? But I know what you mean. People choose places and it seems impossible to live there, but it is. It _is_ possible.”

He watched Bill lean over; peer at an old farming tool. The sort of thing his dad’s dad would’ve used, maybe.

“Yeah,” Bill said. “What else do you do? Even when it’s hard, you’ve got to be somewhere.” His eyes flickered up to Mike’s.

Bill’s father had been a sanitation worker; and Mike knew from interviews that Bill had worked in a textile mill, for a time. The thread of their labor and their families’ labor was changed by Bill’s improbable success, but it could not be forgotten. He didn’t know how to communicate that to Bill; instead of attempting it, he bumped his shoulder against Bill’s in that easy comradery that they’d shared before.

“Derry’s been here a long time,” Bill said, his hand idly gesturing towards a plaque. “It’s weird to think about. I’m glad people like you are compiling its history, Mikey.”

“Someone’s gotta,” Mike said. “It’s part of living here, I think. For me, anyway.” And it _was._ Those colonists, that’d disappeared; those people, that’d murdered the Bradley gang; the people who’d lit the Black Spot ablaze – he was his father’s son; he wanted to know about them all, for better or for worse. That Bill could appreciate that…he was even sadder than before that his friend was leaving.

Mike drove Bill to the airport, when it was time. He didn’t have to – Bill informed him of this fact about ten times – but he left work early on Friday because, well, he wanted to. It seemed pointless that Bill take some fantastically long cab ride when he had Mike, who was perfectly willing to do the work.

“At least,” Bill said, from the passenger seat, “let me pay for the gas. Yeah?”

“Nope,” Mike said, easy; amused. “How many times did you pay for our dinners out?”

Bill frowned, sullenly – the answer was, of course, ‘all of them.’

They drove in mostly-silence; but it was an easy silence, at least.

He parked, instead of dropping Bill off. Maybe that was a little silly, but he walked Bill to his gate. It didn’t _feel_ silly. It felt sort of gentlemanly.

Bill hugged him close and kissed him delicately on the cheek. _Very European._ Very sweet.

“Good luck,” Mike said, although he was not entirely sure what he was wishing him luck in.

“Yeah,” Bill said. “You too, Mikey.” And then he was off; across the ocean, to a far-off land that a man like Mike was unlikely to ever reach. And so it was. That, as it was said, was _that._

There were a lot of ways to be lonely in Derry, Maine. Mike already knew most of them; after Bill left, he learned some more. 

For one; there was the expectation. Mike was forty, turning forty-one soon. He knew that wasn’t ancient, but he also knew he was a gay man in small city, and – well – he didn’t want to be self-defeating, but it was hard to believe that he’d find what he wanted. He did not give up. He was _not_ going to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. He went to the Falcon, and he drank with men ten years his junior, and he found that he simply was not interested.

The truth was this: he could not pretend to be a man who had not experienced what he had experienced. He’d felt the loss, the tension, the – _desperation_. It would always be within him; the overpowering stress of fighting some beast greater than he could even comprehend. It wasn't that he was special – lots of gay men had lost friends; but then how many of them had lost them like he had? He wasn’t trying to be unique. But he thought that maybe the beast under Derry was something he had to talk about with the one he loved, and that meant – well – that meant –

The thing was he _already_ loved Bill. He had, for a long time.

But he’d scared him off. _Oh Lord, Mikey. Look what you’ve done now._

He _knew._ He knew how lonely he’d doomed himself to being. There were men like him, everywhere there were men like him, but especially in Derry he knew there were…he saw it in their eyes sometimes, when someone his age or older frequented the Falcon. It was unfortunate, but – he’d tried, right? He’d tried to do the good thing. Even if it hurt…and it did hurt. _Oh, God, Bill – I miss you. I do._

(He dreamt, sometimes, of them – of Bill and himself; as they had been once – precious young things; with open hearts and gangling, uncoordinated limbs; running all over town with some incorrigible happiness in their hearts. Things had been so hard, back then – surely, their lives were in many ways better now, but – in the ‘60s there’d been some magic in their steps, yeah?

Mike dreamt of Bill on his too-large bike; Bill with his dirty-blond hair falling over one eye; stuttering but proud; Bill who asked for help, and Mike who could give it to him. He had to – it was Mike who had asked for help first, and Bill who had saved him; had saved him from those who hated him, and Mike had not forgot that, not ever. Maybe that was why he never got over Bill; why he had read his books while Bill forgot; why he imagined kissing him before they even met again, when it had been almost thirty years since they’d last spoken.

Maybe it was pathetic. Probably it was. But he loved Bill. That was that. He couldn’t do anything about it. If he had to stay in Derry – and he _did_ have to stay, someone had to — then he could at least stay in love with Bill Denbrough while he did it. It should’ve been a weakness, a homosexual tragedy, but it wasn’t. Derry was his home.

 _Even now?_ asked his aching heart, and Mike said back to it, _Yes, even now._ )

“What’s going on with you, Michael?”

“Michael?” Mike laughed, raising one eyebrow. “Oh, you’re serious, if you’re breaking out the ‘Michael.’”

Aaron smirked around the end of his cigarette. “Of course I’m serious. You’ve been moody as all-Hell lately.”

“Have I really?” Mike didn’t _think_ he’d been acting out of character, but then, Aaron had known him for a long time.

Aaron glanced over, making pointed eye contact. “ _Please_ tell me this isn’t you angsting over that white boy you slept with twice.”

Mike smiled. A sort of painful smile, maybe, but – Aaron’s beer was getting to his head and he felt a little fuzzy, a little light. Lighter than he had in a long time, actually – because Aaron was perhaps correct in his observations.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” he said, “But I actually slept with him a grand total of zero times.”

Aaron laughed. “You’re right, I _don’t_ believe it. Mike, I _saw_ you going home with him!”

“We’re friends! He crashed at my place.”

“You shove all your friends against the wall like that?”

Mike felt his face heat. “I didn’t shove him. And that kiss was a mistake.”

Aaron sighed. “Alright, you didn’t. ‘Cause it didn’t look like _he_ thought it was a mistake.”

Mike drained the rest of his beer, and swiped Aaron’s half-finished bottle. “Look…Bill’s straight – no, fuck off, he is. He’s…he came to visit me, but now he’s gone back to his _wife_. In _England_.”

“Well, shit.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly tired. He was very glad for the fuzziness of his head, and for Aaron’s easy companionship.

“Please tell me you’re not in love with him,” Aaron said. His voice wasn’t joking anymore, and his tone was very gentle.

“I…” how could he even describe what Bill was to him? “Bill and I have known each other since we were kids. He’s my friend. Of course I love him.”

“Sure. But in a ‘brotherhood of man’ way, or –”

“I think I started falling for him when I was eleven years old,” Mike said. It was the first time he’d ever said it aloud, to anyone – because who would he tell? _Bill, I want to tell Bill, I should’ve – why didn’t I –?_ But it was too late for those regrets.

“Mike…” Aaron said, and the sympathy Mike heard there was too painful. He closed his eyes and hid his face in his one hand, the other flexing and clutching at the beer bottle like it was a lifeline.

Gently, Aaron pried his hand away. Mike opened his eyes, and Aaron was face to face with him, smiling a little.

“You’ve got such a big heart, Michael,” he said. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t.” He leaned forward and kissed Mike – very softly and very sweetly – on the lips. His mouth was warm, and so were his fingers when they curved over Mike’s cheek. Mike blinked, teary-eyed. Aaron smiled at him, and pulled away.

“I can’t help it,” Mike said.

“I know,” Aaron said. “Shit. He better love you back.”

“He does,” Mike said, with a quiet certainty. He had that, at least.

“Not like you love him, though.”

“Not like that, no,” Mike said. “And it does hurt. I don’t know how to get over him. I shouldn’t have kissed him.”

Aaron gave him another of those piercing, knowing looks. “He really – I’m being serious – he didn’t look that traumatized, okay? I don’t think you’ve ruined things, Mike.”

“I hope so,” Mike said. “I miss him already.”

“I bet he misses you, too.”

“Maybe,” Mike said. It was the most he could allow himself to believe.

Aaron smirked, suddenly. “He’ll come back for you,” he said. “I’d bet money on it.”

Mike laughed, and it was only a little watery. “Yeah, sure. Can’t avoid that Derry charm, right?”

Aaron leaned gently against Mike’s shoulders. Mike was very intensely grateful for his friend. 

“Can’t avoid _you._ ”

“Mm,” Mike said; but he didn’t try to argue against him. It was a nice reminder – the pleasant looseness of his thoughts; the press of Aaron’s arm – he was not actually abandoned. Although, if Bill _did_ come back into his life…well. Mike didn’t mind the wait, at least.

“I should give him a call,” Mike said, eventually. “You know…clear the air.”

“Good idea,” Aaron said. His voice still had that gentle quality to it. From his porch where they were sat, you could see clear out half-way across Derry. The old part of town was still like that. Over the tree-tops, early night stars were starting to appear. Derry wasn’t so big yet that it drowned them out, which was pretty damn nice. Mike smiled at the stars. Aaron smiled, too, beside him, and without Mike even having to ask, Aaron passed him another beer from the cooler.

When Mike got home that night, his big empty bed didn’t feel quite so lonely. He looked, for a long and slightly tipsy moment, at the painting on his wall of the open sea. He and Bill were an ocean apart, now. Was Bill thinking of him, too? It was possible. He didn’t dare think that it was _likely,_ but – surely it was _possible._


	2. we must be in love

Autumn turned to Winter, and Winter brought with her the biting cold. In those dark months, Mike often found himself marveling at his father’s determination – Mike had been born in Maine, of course, but if you’d known some warmer, brighter place, surely it’d be more difficult – and so his thoughts went in the same steady loop they always did, of love and respect for his parents. Around the end of the year, he missed them even more than usual.

On New Year’s Eve, he wrote in his notebook, _My wish for 1991 is that fewer of my friends die._ And then he shook his head and laughed a little at himself, although it wasn’t funny. He poured himself a drink which became several drinks, and he watched some TV, and then by the time he was getting ready for bed he was feeling loose and still-tipsy enough to write about Bill.

 _I regret how things ended between us, although I also hope that was not the end. Actually, let’s go with that – in 1991 I will try to fix what things I have broken. Bill is a good friend, a well-loved friend, and I don’t have enough of those to spare._ He smiled down a little sadly at his own words, and when Mike went to sleep that night, he slept well, and did not remember his dreams.

As it went, though, Mike did not get to make good on his promise. He did not reach out to Bill, but the reason for that was simple – Bill beat him to it.

“Hi, Mikey,” said the figure on Mike’s doorstep, sort of sheepishly. There was a suitcase by his side, and it was cold enough that his breath showed in the air.

 _What?_ Mike thought.

“What?” Mike said.

Bill Denbrough laughed.

“Somehow,” he said, “I _knew_ that would be your reaction.”

Mike’s chest was blooming with a silly, impossible _hope._ “What are you doing here, Bill?”

“You know,” Bill said, lightly, like the cold was not at all uncomfortable, even though he had a scarf wrapped tight around his chin, “it turns out that if you fly across the ocean on a whim right around the holidays, and come to a little place in Maine, USA, and you try to book a nice room in the Derry Inn on zero notice – well. It just might turn out that there are no vacancies…no rooms at the inn. Almost Biblical.”

Mike blinked. Then he laughed. “Shit, really?”

Bill laughed again, too. “Yeah. Really. Say, can I come in?”

“Of course,” Mike said. “But – weren’t you with Audra? I – thought that’s what you wanted…”

Bill shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t. I mean – I _know_ it wasn’t, but...I’m not sure what it is that I _do_ want. Mike, I barely know who I _am_ now. I thought Audra could tell me. But she couldn’t. And we couldn’t fix our marriage, because it was already too-far broken, I suppose.”

Standing there in the cold made spots of red appear on Bill’s cheeks, his nose. The sun-glint off his glasses hid his eyes, but he was biting slightly at his lip; that was nervousness, wasn’t it? Mike knew it was. He was nervous, too.

“I didn’t…” he said, unsure how to say what had to be said. “Bill, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you should go running back to Audra.”

“Yes, you _did,”_ Bill said. “I mean, that’s…you _said_ that. You did.”

“Only because I thought it’d be good for you.”

“You almost had me believing that it was,” Bill said. “But it turns out it wasn’t. Audra was right. We’re different people now than when we met. And that’s fine. That’s not a bad thing. But we’ve grown in different directions, and I can’t un-do that. Hell, I don’t _want_ to un-do that.”

“I just,” Mike said. “It was so fast. I didn’t want you to throw away your life.”

Bill cocked his head to the side. “It is throwing away my life to come here?”

“I…” Mike said. _Yes?_ “I don’t know.”

“Mikey,” Bill said, and suddenly he sounded very sad. “It’s cold out here, you know.”

“Shit,” Mike said. “Sorry,” and he stepped back from the door; leaving it wide open to the winter, and to Bill. “Come out of the snow, Bill. Wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

Bill crossed the threshold and kicked his boots on the mat. “There you go, trying to protect me again.”

“Well, someone’s gotta.”

“Who takes care of you, though?” Bill adjusted his glasses, peering at Mike over them. Mike met his gaze, steadily. Or as steadily as he could manage, at least.

“Derry takes care of her own,” he said.

Bill laughed. Within Mike’s home, he looked gentler; softer. Mike could see the tired lines around his eyes; the way his usually clean-shaven face was a little over-grown from traveling. “Is that a fucking joke?”

“No, she _does_ …this isn’t the town it was, Bill.”

“You wouldn’t have stayed if it was?”

“Even when Derry was cursed, it wasn’t so bad,” Mike said. “Here, let me take your bag.”

Bill handed over his duffel wordlessly. “If it’s not so bad, then how am I ruining my life by being here?”

“You’re meant for bigger things,” Mike said.

“No,” Bill said. “Well, I mean, maybe. But fuck fate. I _want_ to be right here. Okay?”

Mike’s heart was a living thing in his chest; bounding, leaping; he could not remember the last time he’d felt like this. No, actually – he could, and the last time had been when Bill had come to him the first time.

“Let’s have dinner,” Bill said. “Go for drinks. Or stay in. Whatever you want, Mike, I don’t care. And then – let me stay the night?”

“Of course,” Mike said. And then he let some of the truth slip out. “I’d really like that, Bill.” His heart was wild, and so were his thoughts; _Maybe you haven’t ruined everything, Mikey; maybe you don’t have to be alone – maybe Oh God maybe – maybe he wants what you want._

The smile Bill offered up to him was so warm; so genuine; it shined through time; he looked eleven; he looked how he must have looked at fifteen, at twenty-five, at thirty; at every milestone that Mike had missed.

“I’m going to go change clothes,” Bill said. His voice was very gentle, now. “Can I use your bathroom, Mikey?”

“Make yourself at home,” Mike said. It was a heavy thing to say in this context; but he found that he meant it.

Bill shut the door to Mike’s bathroom with a click, and for a too-long moment Mike simply stood there with Bill’s bag in his hands; unable to move. Bill, back in his life – of his own accord. Mike had not even asked…this was twice now that Bill had come to him unprompted. Once could be dismissed, maybe, but twice was – what was _twice?_ He went to his office and put Bill’s bag down there. After Bill slept on his couch, he’d bought a foldable cot bed, in case – in case what? Some other straight guy crashed at his place? Mike rubbed both hands over his face.

The door to his bathroom opened. Bill had settled to the temperature; his face no longer quite so pink. His soft red shirt was buttoned to his collar, and he was wearing a new tie that Mike didn’t recognize.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” Bill smiled at him. His eyes, voice, and body were all _agreeable;_ that was the only way Mike could describe his stance. Bill was trying, Mike realized dimly, not to scare him. Was he truly that skittish? Well, probably.

“Come on,” Mike said, “I’m going to take you out.”

Mike drove them to a restaurant that he’d never been to, but that had been recommended to him by a charming older library patron, as ‘a good place to take a nice young woman.’ He did not tell Bill this, because he knew that Bill would laugh, and probably say something like _Am I your nice young woman?_ and he could not answer that without lying, and he was not ready to talk about The Truth. Bill was letting him avoid that conversation, and for that he was grateful. Still, it made him smile to imagine friendly Mrs. Scarborough seeing him walk into the restaurant, maybe with Bill’s hand slung ‘round his hip – he’d never dare, of course, but it was pleasant to imagine…

“This is nice,” Bill said, approvingly, smiling at Mike. “You know all the good places here, huh?”

“This time,” Mike said, smiling back, “I’ve actually never been. We’re both trying it for the first time.”

“It’s an honor,” Bill said, and it was him who smiled at the energetic young hostess; “A table for two, please.”

She sat them in one their two-seaters – which were all a little secluded, a little romantic. Mike felt a little sliver of anxiety; but it was fine – Bill was smiling and laughing with the waitress, and she was friendly back. They were safe. Not every place in Derry was, but – it was fine.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?” Bill was asking him, flipping through the menu. He flicked his eyes up to Mike with a grin – “I won’t let you have too much, since you’re driving, but –”

Mike laughed. “Sounds good, Bill. You pick.”

The food was excellent, and so was the Pinot Noir. Halfway through a story from Bill about England, Mike felt a warmth start to bloom in his chest; it was finally sinking in that Bill was _here,_ he’d come back _._ He could be happy about that because it was true; it had happened.

“You had some adventures over there, huh?” He said, easily.

“Yeah,” Bill said, and gave one of his smiles where his teeth peeked out. “I missed the States, though. I guess at heart I’m just a boy from Maine.”

“There’s worse things to be.”

“Not many,” Bill grinned. “But I was never going to be a Hollywood man, and I couldn’t swing ex-pat, either. So here I am. Home.”

Mike ignored the way his pulse picked up at that. “You…” he had to clear his throat. “You really want to stay here?”

Bill paused; his set down his fork and knife and raised his glass to his lips. Mike watched the glimpse of his pink tongue as he drank. 

“I think,” Bill said. “I really think I do. It’s like I said last time … where else am I gonna go? I feel that even more now, since Audra and I have really and truly split. I can’t be the man I was before we did this. But I don’t want to forget. I mean, I guess I _can’t_ , not really. That’s what I mean when I say Audra was right; even in England, so far away from Derry, I couldn’t leave it behind. I kept…”

He looked up across the table; his eyes were suddenly piercing.

“I h-had dreams,” he said. “About you.”

Mike swallowed. “About me?”

“I mean,” Bill said. “I duh _-didn’t,_ _shit_ –” he took a breath, and when he spoke again it was slow and considered. “I didn’t _know_ it was you. But I kept having these dreams about a man…and as soon as I stepped onto the ground of the Bangor airport, I knew it was you.”

“Oh,” Mike said.

“Yep,” Bill said. “Oh.”

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. Bill leaned back in his chair; his head cocked slightly to the side. It was like he was challenging Mike, but challenging him to _what?_

He was saved by their waitress reappearing; Bill waved a loose hand at her offer of dessert – Bill was not drunk, but he’d had more of the wine than Mike, and he was open and personable. The waitress brought their check, and Bill grabbed it before Mike could say a word; an eyebrow raised cockily over the rim of his glasses.

“Now what?” he asked Mike, standing the check up on their table.

“Let me pay the tip, at least,” Mike said.

Bill nodded, as if doing Mike a great favor. “I meant, where are we headed next?”

They could go out – not to the Falcon; Mike could not handle the Falcon right now. But there were nice cocktail bars that probably Bill would like. He found however, that the simple truth was this: He did not want to take Bill out on the town. He wanted to go home. He wanted Bill to come home _with_ him.

“I’m ready for home if you are,” Mike said. “You want drinks or anything?”

Bill swilled the last of the wine in his glass, and downed it. “I’m good, Mikey,” he said, softly. “Let’s go home.”

Mike flicked the light on in his office. “It’s not much,” he said. “But I do have a cot I can set up. It’s better than the couch, at least.”

Bill smiled. His cheeks were still a little rosy from the wine. “Your couch really wasn’t as bad as all that, Mikey. I slept well enough.”

“It’s too small!”

Bill snorted. “You’re too tall.”

Mike smiled but didn’t respond to the bait. “Anyway, I can…make it up for you, if that’s okay? It’s not too late to try for a room in some motel…”

“I don’t want some motel.” Bill turned, and gripped Mike’s elbow. “You know that, Mike.”

Mike pulled his arm gently out of Bill’s grip. “Bill…” he said. As a warning, or as a…defense. What had happened between them before…he couldn’t handle it a second time.

Bill nodded as if he understood. Mike supposed it was possible that he did. He stepped back. “I’m going to use your bathroom, okay?”

Mike watched Bill slip away, and set up the utilitarian little bed. He’d never used it, because why would he? In fact since Bill had left he had not taken any men home at all, though he’d gone with a few. No one he’d seen more than once. God, it’d been a long time since someone had slept at his place more than once.

Bill re-emerged with his tie undone and his hair down. “Thank you, Mikey,” he said, softly. “Good night.”

“Good night, Bill,” Mike said, and that was that; he stepped out of the room and closed the door. He watched the light peeking out from under the door, and heard Bill moving around the room. Tomorrow, they would talk…about all the things that he did not want to talk about, and did not know how to say…but talk they would. He sighed, softly, and padded into the bathroom. On the shelf above the sink lay a foreign toothbrush; Bill’s. It was so mundane, so normal, but it was not normal for Mike. There had never been another man’s toothbrush beside his own, not in this house.

Mike gripped the hard edge of the counter; he closed his eyes and tried to ground himself. Bill was sleeping in the other room because he had come back, he had chosen to, in part at least because he missed Mike. It was not a false hope to wonder if he wanted to stay. It was reasonable, he was being _reasonable,_ and he was _not going to panic._

Very much. He was not going to panic _very much._

Mike shook his head and got ready for bed, trying hard not to think too deeply. Before he pulled back his covers, he got out his journal. In it, he wrote only a single line below the carefully marked date: _Bill is here._

Mike awoke to birdsong. It was always sort of strange to hear them in winter, but of course…living things still made their homes here even in the snow and ice and cold. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He had brought someone home last night, but he was alone in bed.

He got up and showered quickly and quietly; Bill seemed to still be asleep, or at least still in Mike’s office. Mike dressed, and then he went to make them breakfast. He smiled now to remember his juvenile hangover after that first night; Bill had cooked for him…he liked that they took turns, that they could each give each other things. He brewed coffee, humming a little to himself – an old song, a sixties tune – and was not surprised when Bill emerged, in soft cotton trousers and an undershirt, rubbing at his eyes and his hair still down.

“Is that coffee?” He said, yawning.

Mike laughed. “Yeah, man, and it looks like you need it. You didn’t sleep badly, did you?”

Bill smiled ruefully. “I slept fine, thank you Mikey. But I stayed up for a few hours…got some writing done. I woke up with the sun and had a bit of trouble going back to sleep after.”

Mike poured him some coffee, nodding. It was odd to think that Bill had been awake in his home, while he slept. “Productive, though, I hope?”

Bill shrugged, accepting the coffee. Mike watched him spoon a copious amount of sugar into it with some mild amusement. “I guess. This is all for the same book…I still haven’t finished it yet. I just can’t get it right.”

Mike sipped at his own coffee. “We…went through something pretty heavy. Lost some people we were real close too. You separated from your wife, too. That’s a lot, Bill.” He said it as lightly as possible, which admittedly was not very.

“I know,” Bill said. “It’s just – I’ve never taken this long on one story before. I keep writing things and then changing my mind, going with a different idea instead…I guess part of it is maybe I’ve always been writing about Derry, but this one is _about_ Derry, you know? I remember now. And I want to do it right.”

“A commendable goal.”

Bill laughed, suddenly, shaking his head. “Tell that to my marketing people. But yeah, I…don’t mind if it takes longer. And my agents can go screw themselves. I don’t _care_ about the market for this one; I just want it to be good. I want it to be _mine_ …a creation of the New Bill Denbrough.”

Mike stepped into his kitchen; going about the motions of cooking a simple breakfast for them both. “The New Bill, huh?” he said, as he cracked a egg into his heating pan. “Who’s he?”

He turned back in time to see Bill’s grin.

“I don’t know yet,” Bill said. “I guess we’ll see!”

They ate breakfast and it was simple and enjoyable. Bill visibly perked up after his second cup of coffee, which was honestly kind of adorable, not that Mike noticed such things. It was the weekend, and Mike was grateful for that; he wondered if Bill had planned it that way, despite his claims that this was a fully spontaneous decision. The days were open and free for him to fill. It was a blessing.

But he was still Mike Hanlon. Clearing dishes, he said, “Carole’s working today, but I was thinking of going over sometime in the afternoon – she’s just a kid, she deserves a Saturday evening off, you know? If you’d like to write in a real quiet space, you’re welcome to join me.”

“The Derry Public Library’s not a hoppin’ joint on Saturday nights?”

Mike laughed. The mornings were busy – Carole liked them for that reason; schoolkids brought by their parents on the weekends tended to be curious, voracious readers, and she was good at connecting with them in a way that Mike never had been.

“Not exactly,” Mike said.

“Well, sounds good to me,” Bill said. He leaned back in his chair, sipping at the remnants of his coffee. “Can I use your shower first, though?” He ran a hand through his hair, sort of sheepishly.

“Of course,” Mike said, easily. “Hey, man. Anything that’s mine is yours.”

Bill smiled at that, and nodded slightly. The things that they were both not saying remained carefully beneath the surface.

Mike left to run errands, and when he returned, groceries in hand, Bill was sprawled out on his couch, immersed in a paper-back.

“Whatcha reading?” Mike asked as he passed, and Bill jumped as if startled.

“Fuck! Mikey!” He sat up abruptly. He laughed, a little awkward. “I got so caught up, I forgot where I was.”

“A good book, then?”

Bill shrugged. “Just some pulpy stuff, by a new author I haven’t read much of. It’s sci-fi, not horror, but I like it...it’s _bold._ I’d like to be bold.”

“Your books can be pretty bold, I’d say,” Mike said idly, dumping his groceries on the counter.

He heard Bill’s huff from the other room. “That’s a nice way of saying they’ve got vulgar language and sexual content,” Bill said. “I mean bold as in…personal; approaching truthfulness, maybe. I’d like to do that. I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.”

“You’ve got time,” Mike said. “You don’t have to figure everything out in one book, you know.”

Bill sighed, and leaned back on the couch. He was dressed perhaps the most casual Mike had ever seen his adult self; in jeans and with his shirt untucked and open, revealing a soft gray undershirt. “I know,” he said. “I just want it to be _good._ ”

“It will be. You’re a good writer, Bill.” Mike stepped back into the living room to say it.

“Thanks,” Bill said – then his face went oddly focused. “You…always read my books, didn’t you? Since you didn’t forget?”

Ah. _That was a question._

“Yeah,” Mike admitted. “Well, not always – but when you got big, yeah. I tried to keep up with everyone.”

“It’s weird,” Bill said. “You knew me while I forgot you.”

“Sorry,” Mike said, uncomfortable.

“No! It’s not bad. Don’t apologize…I just –” Bill paused. “I’m suh-sorry I couldn’t do the same for you.”

“It’s not your fault.” _You’re here now. You came back for me. Only you, Bill._

“Maybe not,” Bill said, “But I’m going to fix it.” He grinned, suddenly, at Mike; it was as bright as the sun shining off snow. “Okay, Mikey?”

Mike had no idea was ‘fixing it’ would mean. He found that he did not care. “Okay, Bill,” he said, laughing a little with it, “Sure.”

Like the last time, Bill was again in his territory; he quietly sat working as Mike sorted books and organized carts and stamped cards. Carole had looked at him, wide-eyed; as they entered, and Mike had smiled as gently as he could at her; he had never gotten her Bill’s autograph, after all, but her copy of _The Smile_ sat habitually in its place on her desk; he could fix his past failure.

Around 8 pm, when the library was set to close – there was no one inside except himself and Bill; he could’ve closed it an hour earlier and not a soul would’ve noticed – he kept good on his promise.

“Bill,” he said, softly; leaning against a desk near his friend’s workspace. Bill visibly startled; then looked up. He shoved his glasses up his nose.

“Mike!” he said. “Oh shit –” he was glancing at his watch – “That late already?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, laughing. “I was just wondering if I could ask a favor.”

Bill seemed to physically come away from his typewriter, blinking. “Ask away, Mikey,” he said.

Mike proffered the copy of _The Smile_. “My colleague brought this in,” he said. “It’s her favorite book of yours, and I think it’d really mean a lot to her if you’d sign it.”

Bill blinked at him for a moment, wide-eyed. “Carole?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Bill said. “Well! Of course.” He gripped the battered paperback with a genuine gentle-ness; Mike pictured him on the couch, engrossed. Bill was a writer, but he was a reader too – he _understood._

Bill carefully wrote his note on the title-page of the novel, handing it back to Mike with a small smile. Mike glanced over it – _To Carole – thanks for appreciating this one. It’s a little unique – so a little special, I hope. Keep reading! – William Denbrough_.” He realized that he had never actually seen Bill’s professional signature before.

“She’ll really like that,” he said honestly. “Thank you.”

“ _The Smile_ ,” Bill said, “Is not one of my most beloved novels. It feels nice to know it connected with someone.”

“ _I_ liked it,” Mike said, a little indignant, and Bill smiled, toothily.

“Thanks, Mikey,” he said. He stood up from the desk and stretched; slow and luxurious. His undershirt rode up, slightly, as his arms raised above his head. “Closing time?” he said, idly, lowering his arms.

“Just about,” Mike said. He was pretending that his heart wasn’t in his throat. He was pretending that he wasn’t desperately and totally still in love.

It was early yet when they got back to Mike’s place. Some part of Mike _wanted_ a drink; he wanted to go to The Falcon and disappear from the world for a brief moment in time. But he didn’t suggest any such thing. As much as he _wanted_ anything, he knew that he and Bill _needed_ to talk.

He let Bill come home and relax; store away his story notes and papers in Mike’s office. When he emerged, though, Mike said, “Bill.”

“Yeah?” Bill still sounded half-distracted.

“I think,” Mike said, “We need to talk about what you’re doing here.”

“I already told you,” Bill said. “Where else was I supposed to go?”

“Okay,” Mike said, his heart pounding pathetically in his chest. “I can help you get a place, you know?”

Bill stared at him.

“What –?” Mike said, cut-off.

“Mikey,” Bill said, sounding almost – almost stern, and quite tired. “Do you understand what I’m…fuck!”

“What?” Mike said, again.

“I don’t _want_ a place,” Bill said. There was some desperate rush to his voice. “I mean – if you won’t have me then – but.” His eyes flickered up and stood still on Mike’s face. “Mike, I’m – I’m asking if I can st-st—” he paled at the stutter, and stood very still for a long moment.

“Stay,” Bill said, eventually. “I’m asking if I c-can stay. W-with you.”

Mike’s heart was absolutely sprinting in his chest. It was terrifying. “What do you mean?” he said.

“Christ,” Bill said, and then he stepped forward and gripped Mike’s face in his hands. “I don’t know how to say it, to m-make you understand,” he whispered, and then he kissed Mike on the mouth.

His mouth was slightly dry with anxiety; but he was warm and passionate; Mike opened his mouth to him and their tongues were pressing hot against each other; their breaths mingling. Mike's hands gripped instinctively at Bill’s body; clutching at his hips as Bill pressed himself against Mike.

“I want _this_ ,” Bill said. “And if that’s too much, fine, but I need you to say no to the thing I’m actually offering.” 

Mike did not know how to respond. “But,” he said, desperately, “Audra —”

“I’m not _with_ Audra anymore, Mike,” Bill said. He laid his head against Mike’s chest; the noise of Mike’s heart must’ve been nearly deafening; it was practically all Mike could hear.

“I don’t know,” Bill said, his voice soft, reassuring. “I don’t know what it’ll be like; I’ve never been with a man before and I _know_ it’s different; I know I can’t understand what it’s been like for you, living here…but Mike…the way I feel about you…”

He gripped Mike’s shoulders and pulled back, so that they were looking at each other. Mike had no idea what expression could possibly be on his face.

“I don’t know what else to do with it,” Bill said, after a long moment of nervous breath. “I don’t…”

And there was something in his voice – something asking, _begging,_ to be understood, that Mike _did_ understand; he’d heard that same tone in his own voice, and in the voice of other men – that tone, more than anything else, convinced him of Bill’s sincerity. There was a subtle fear in it, the fear of rejection and fear of worse things; Bill did not _know,_ perhaps, but clearly, he was learning. And it pained Mike suddenly that his learning had to be accompanied by fear.

Mike cupped one hand around the curve of Bill’s chin and cheek; he let his fingers rest; his fingertips feeling the flushed skin beneath them, lingering on the spot of Bill’s birthmark. 

“Bill,” he said. “I…haven’t lived with someone since I was twenty-three years old. So this is new territory for me, too.”

“You’re saying you want me to stay?”

Mike had to pull away at that, because he had to laugh; but when he did it was shaky and he felt tears coming to his eyes.

“Mike –”

“I’m okay, Bill,” Mike said, avoiding his searching hands. “It’s just – Christ, if this was about what I _want_ – “ 

“Mikey, then t-tell me! I want to _know_ what you want! You’re so damn cagey –”

 _I thought I was going to be alone forever!_ Mike’s mind defended him, desperately. _I couldn’t ever talk about it and then you – everyone came and left or died – my phone call, my fault – and I was alone. So Billy you can’t ask me to – you can’t expect me to know how to_ deal _with it –_

What I _want_ is for you to never leave me alone again –

Say it Mikey you have to say _something_ –

“I want you to stay, Bill,” Mike said. “Dammit, Bill, of _course_ I want you to stay, I’ve been in love with you for – a long time – “

Bill’s eyes went wide; the tips of his ears went pink, but then he grinned, a genuine and toothy grin.

“Oh,” he said. “Good, because I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

Part of Mike’s mind said, _You_ think _? No, we need to be sure; we can’t do this_ – But Mike ignored it.

“Are we finally on the same page?” Bill said. He was still smiling; wide, loose. Mike realized belatedly that he never saw Bill this open and unfettered in public; but around Mike he…well. God. That was something. How many things like that would he see, if he allowed himself to look?

He was out of words. It was too overwhelming; thoughts were bubbling up inside him. But Bill would not mind that, if they spoke without words, with the ease of children ( _or of lovers_ ) –

Mike kissed him, instead of speaking, and it was certainly the slowest kiss that they’d had between them yet; there was a passion behind it, but a patience, too. When he pulled back, Bill leaned in for another peck on the lips.

“Mike,” he said, gently. “It’s gonna be okay. We can figure it out. We can go slow.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike said, laughing suddenly – what was he so afraid of, it was Bill! – and he gripped Bill by the waist, lifting him and spinning them both. “Slow? You want slow, Billy?”

“Fucking _Hell,”_ Bill said, foul-mouthed and breathless when Mike set him down. “Christ. You kept those farm-boy muscles, huh Mikey?”

“I try,” Mike said, and then he laughed again, delighted.

“Okay,” Bill said, and he reached up and looped his arms over Mike’s shoulders, his hands clasped around the back of Mike’s neck. “Happy Mike. I like that.”

Mike leaned his face into the curve of Bill’s neck and shoulder; he felt half-giddy; half-exhausted; he didn’t know where to go from here, what to do that would not be too fast. But that was alright, then, wasn’t it? They could figure it out together. 

Bill cooked him dinner. It was still his house, his kitchen; but Bill had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and, grinningly, shooed Mike into the dining room.

“Have a beer, Mikey,” he said, graciously offering Mike one of his own Bud lights. Mike took it, laughing.

“Are you a chef as well as a bestselling novelist?”

“Nope,” Bill said, “But anyone can follow a recipe, right?”

“Please don’t turn my kitchen into a crime scene.”

“I’d never!”

But the thing was that Mike couldn’t sit still; and he didn’t want to just look at Bill, not now that he could touch him. He stood and then went to Bill; he had his beer can in one hand and the other he wrapped around Bill’s elbow and forearm, and good Lord that was Heaven, wasn’t it? Bill leaned back against his chest, letting Mike hold onto him. It continued to astound him that Bill was easy around him, that a man who’d only been with women had never so much as flinched from his touch…Mike sighed, a little, and rubbed a circle on Bill’s forearm.

“Okay, Mikey?” Bill said, without moving to break their touch.

Mike kissed the back of Bill’s head, softly. “I’m fine,” he said, as if the sudden domesticity didn’t have him near tears. That this, _this_ could be for him…he fundamentally did not know how to react.

They made vegetable biryani; or at least they tried to make vegetable biryani out of the things an American librarian had in his cupboards. Bill knew a surprising amount about making Indian food; Mike wanted to ask if Audra liked it but restrained himself. They would have to talk about Audra some time, but perhaps not yet.

The food was good; and maybe it should’ve been paired with a nice wine, but Mike didn’t keep much wine. He kept a lot of beer, and some liquor; Bill poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. They ate and they drank and it was a celebration, which was – weird. Eventually it got so _weird_ that he had to say something.

“This,” he said, dryly, “is really not how dating usually goes for me.”

Bill laughed into his drink. “And here I thought this is just what it’s like, going with men…” His eyes flicked over, meeting Mike’s; his gaze was gentle.

“I have no idea where to go from here,” Mike admitted.

“Me neither,” Bill said. “But we can…figure it out together, right?”

Mike wanted there to be a script; to be some pre-figured way of making sense of things – but that wasn’t how this worked. Maybe that wasn’t how _any_ relationship worked, not really…

“Yeah,” he said, softly. “I guess we will.” The future stretched out in front of him; but maybe that wasn’t so terrifying after all.

“You don’t,” Mike said, after they’d both brushed their teeth. “Bill, you don’t have to sleep in the cot, if you don’t want to.”

Bill had shed his outer layers; he was only in his undershirt and sock feet, now. “Are you inviting me to bed with you?” he said, and if he had meant it to be joking, it did not really sound it.

“Just,” Mike said, his heart a steady thud in his chest, “Y’know…might be more comfortable.”

Bill looked at him. He was not wearing his glasses, but his gaze was still piercing. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. He wasn’t but he _was_ — he was scared but still wanted. He was trying to lean into his desire.

“Alright then,” Bill said, smiling softly. He disappeared into Mike’s office and when he reemerged, he was in pajama pants; his hair down, and Mike was very nearly overwhelmed to see him cross the boundary-line of Mike’s room.

Bill went almost immediately to the side of his bed, and perched his glasses back on his nose to peer at a painting on Mike’s wall; of the wide-open sea and a tall ship in the distance.

“This is nice, Mikey,” he said, approvingly. “Real nice.” No one had ever commented on that painting before; but Mike saw it every single day and thought very fondly of it.

“Thanks,” he said. “Local artist.”

Bill turned towards him, smiling again. He folded his glasses up in one hand, his bangs falling into his eyes a little.

“What side of the bed do you want?” he said.

Mike slept in the middle, and shook his head, amused. “You pick, Bill,” he said; and then he got to watch Bill Denbrough pull back the covers of his bed and climb in. Bill pulled the covers all the way up to his chin and blinked sleepily at Mike.

“Good night, Mikey,” he said. “I’ll try not to hog the blankets.”

Mike washed his face and brushed his teeth. When he was ready – finally, and maybe he’d gone slow on purpose – to climb into bed, Bill was curled up on his side, blankets covering most of his face. There was the curve of one eyebrow; one shuttered eyelid. He wanted to reach out and touch, but Bill looked close to sleep and he didn’t want to wake him.

Mike laid down, carefully away from him, and falling asleep was much easier than he thought it would be.

Mike awoke to birdsong – again. His eyes peeled open and caught sunlight; for a moment he was too close to sleep to process anything, but the sensation slowly came back. There was a hand splayed over his hip; for a moment he was confused. _But it was Bill’s._ He shut his eyes tight against the overpowering sensation of it; then gently he laid his hand of Bill’s and moved him, so that he could get out of bed. Bill made a small dissatisfied noise, and curled tightly into himself; only a few strands of long brown hair remaining above the blankets. Mike smiled, and rubbed at his eyes. He did not feel tired; he’d slept very soundly and had not awoken once during the night. It felt bizarre that it was only Sunday; could so much really change in a weekend? It turned out that it could.

Bill awoke when Mike brewed coffee – again. History repeated itself with tiny changes that meant the world; and Mike did not know what to make of that. He stirred the milk and sugar into his own cup, and set aside another mug that he over-filled with sugar, for Bill.

“Morning, Mike,” Bill said, blearily; they’d gone to bed at the same time, so it was becoming evident that Bill was simply not a morning person. Mike grinned at him.

“Coffee?” he said, and proffered the mug to him.

Bill accepted it, and took a careful sip. His hair was hanging, uncombed, over one eye, but he did not seem to notice or care. His eyes widened as he swallowed.

“Oh,” he said, “you added sugar.”

“I remember,” Mike said. “You like it sweet.”

“I do,” Bill said. He paused, as if something else was on the tip of his tongue, but in the end he said nothing.

Eventually, Mike said, “Any plans for today?”

Bill arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know. What about you? You go to church?”

Mike laughed. “Not anymore, no. You wanna hit up Derry Baptist?”

Bill was grinning; he’d been raised by barely-practicing Christians, and Mike would’ve bet money that he was now an atheist.

“No thanks,” Bill said, “I think my soul is safe enough.”

“Well, if you wanna risk it…”

Things had not changed so much that they could not joke around, and that was good.

The heavy truth of it was that Mike did not know what to do or say; and nor did Bill, it seemed – neither of them had the advantage of specific experience; Bill knew more about committed relationships, but Mike knew more about dating men, and the two of them struggled to combine their knowledge bases.

The first day of the long rest of Mike’s life was spent walking around Derry with Bill, pointing out new places and describing changes in the old. He felt pretty good about it; if Bill was going to stay here, he needed to know all the changes, all the strange new places built on old grounds.

It was an odd exercise. It revealed how out-of-date Bill’s memories were, but not in a bad way – at one point, Mike gestured down a residential road, and Bill said casually, “That’s where Eddie lived, isn’t it?”

It was, but Mike had not thought of it that way in a long time. The reminder was stark; it recalled Eddie as he had been in childhood; a prickly child with an ego far larger than his small frame. He’d been kind, too, though. Mike still missed him; he always would – he was glad that Bill was there to remember him with Mike.

“Yeah,” was all he could say in the moment, “his mom lived down there.” Bill nodded, sharply once, and they kept walking. They walked past the library – where Mike worked, sure, but also the inspiration of one Ben Hanscom – and they strolled past the Kissing Bridge and they ignored the nastier graffiti on it; they walked past the Barrens, which no longer resembled their childhood play-place.

“Derry really has changed,” Mike said; inadequate but true.

Bill nodded, partly seemingly to himself. “I know,” he said. “For the better, I hope…” He was perhaps thinking of the messages on the Kissing Bridge. Mike mostly tried not to.

 _It’s no longer got an evil Thing under it,_ Mike thought. That had to be good for something, at least. Mike swung his arm out; let it catch at Bill’s elbow for a moment.

“Let’s go to the Falcon tonight,” he said, softly. “That’s a piece of Derry that’s really different, right?”

Bill turned towards him, a smile curving his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, voice soft to match Mike’s. “That’s a good change, right there.”

Passing the day away went easier after that. They ate leftovers from the day before for dinner, and Bill pulled off his tie as if that transitioned him instantly into casual wear. Mike laughed, and pulled his sweater over his head, to match. They stood there as two fully dressed men; Mike felt half-naked and he suspected Bill did, too. God, they were too old for this.

They walked over, instead of driving; the night was bracing, but still unseasonably warm for a Maine winter. By the time they arrived, Bill’s face was flushed a charming pink. Aaron was smoking at the entrance – in civilian clothes; he was off the clock.

“Heya, Mikey,” he said, eyeing Bill with an easy, astute, recognition. “All good?”

“I’m good,” Mike said; he did not have the words, the code, to tell Aaron that he was safe with Bill; in every way that he _could_ be safe. “You good too?”

Aaron took a long drag; his cigarette-tip a tiny orange glow in the dark. “Sure,” he said. “You take care, alright?”

“I will,” Mike said. He put his hand on Bill’s elbow; this time, he kept it there, and led Bill inside.

“What was that about?” Bill said, once they passed the threshold.

Mike shrugged. “A test, I guess.”

“Did I pass?” For a brief moment, Bill locked eyes with him.

“I don’t know,” Mike said, truthfully. “Aaron’s a hard judge.”

“He cares about you,” Bill said, approvingly, and apparently, that was that. Bill seemed to lose interest in the conversation topic, leading them both to the bar.

“Whattaya want?” he said, smiling. “That fruity thing again?” Even in the dim light, Mike could see that there was perhaps a twinkle in his eye.

“Trying to get me drunk, Denbrough?”

“Oh, _never,_ ” Bill said, and he ordered them two rum-and-cokes.

They drank them at the bar, in one far dark corner, but still out there in the front. Mike let one hand slip around Bill’s waist; his thumb grabbing one of Bill’s belt loops. He heard Bill sigh, and then the other man was leaning back, pressing some of his weight against Mike’s chest. Mike watched a young couple’s eyes pass over them both; they were perhaps some of the oldest people in the bar. But he did not have to be the lonely forty-year-old sitting by himself anymore, and that was something in itself.

“You said there was an odd story behind this bar,” Bill said, turning so he could throw a glance at Mike’s face. They were pressed up flush against each other. “What was it?”

“You remember that?” Mike said, surprised; Bill simply nodded in response.

“Well,” Mike said. “It’s nothing that special; I forget some of the details. though I still have all my notes. But essentially it was never intended to be a gay bar; it found its clientele solely by accident, and the owner had the grace, or the business sense, to accept it.”

“Everyone needs somewhere to go,” Bill said, softly.

“Yeah,” Mike said; there was little else that _could_ be said. He thought painfully and suddenly of Eddie, who he suspected had perhaps never had somewhere to go and be seen. Bill seemed to hear his sigh, and turned fully towards him. He joined their free hands together.

“You should write a book, Mikey. All the things you learned about Derry.”

Mike laughed, although he thought about such things, sometimes.

“Maybe _you_ should,” he said, ruefully. “I think a lot of it would not do my profile as an amateur historian any favors.”

Bill laughed, too. He was rubbing Mike’s knuckles with his thumb; the touch felt electric.

“Alright,” he said, “So you’d have to omit some things. But there’s a lot that goes on in this town that maybe deserves to be spoken about.”

“Hm,” Mike said. “Tell ya what. You finish your book first, and I’ll consider it.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Bill said, sternly, but he was smiling. “Alright, deal. And I’ll hold you to that, you know.” He leant up and kissed Mike, chastely, on the lips. There was nothing for Mike to be scared of; no reason for him to pull back or away. So he didn’t. He kissed Bill back, and let go of his hand to cup the side of his face; his thumb on his birthmark again.

“Well,” he said, when they broke apart. “Hell. Billy, if you make all your promises like that, I can think of a few other things…” and he was bolstered by the sound of Bill’s pleased laughter.

“I thought,” Mike said, “that we agreed we were going slow.” He was up against the hard wall of his living room; there was a bit of the corner digging into his side. It was hard to notice all that, though, because Bill’s hands were under his shirt, halfway up his chest.

“I am being fucking _slow_ ,” Bill hissed, and then he leaned in and pressed a wet kiss to the curve of Mike’s shoulder. “Your belt’s still done up, isn’t it?”

“Bill,” Mike groaned, and his head hit the solid barrier of the wall with a thud. “That’s – teasing – you’re teasing –”

“Mikey,” Bill said, a little breathless. “You’re the one – I mean – sharing a bed?”

“Friends can share beds,” Mike said, pointlessly.

“Please tell me you aren’t usually like this with people you’re trying to date,” Bill said, and Mike laughed, helplessly.

“This is _different,”_ he said, because it was. “You haven’t even been with men before!”

“So?” Bill said. “Christ, Mikey, can’t I learn? I’ve only ever been with about three different women.”

“Oh,” Mike said. Obviously, Bill had been married, but it was odd to think that Mike had been with more partners.

“Just tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” Bill said, decisively, and then his hands were on Mike’s belt; pulling the buckle and gently removing the belt. Bill’s hands slipped under the waistband of Mike’s boxers, and Mike’s erection strained against him. He groaned, audibly.

“Yeah,” murmured Bill. “Yeah, Mikey, me too…”

Suddenly, Bill dropped to his knees. He looked up at Mike; his face was flushed, his forehead shiny with sweat.

“Can I –”

“Bill,” Mike said. “You don’t – shit, you don’t have to suck me off –”

“Let me,” Bill said. “Please. I’ll stop, if –” he pulled Mike’s boxers down over his hips; stroked a long finger down the length of Mike’s cock.

“Oh,” Bill said, and then he – put his mouth on Mike. Mike felt, hazily, his head slamming against the wall again, because _Christ._ He tried not to move, but he couldn’t help it – Bill gagged on him, and sat back on his heels, his lips red and wet. He looked up at Mike through his crooked glasses.

“Shit, Bill, I’m sorry,” Mike said, desperately. “I –”

“It’s okay,” Bill said. He was looking at Mike, steadily – that was _arousal_ in his eyes, Mike realized belatedly. Bill took his glasses off and set them on a nearby surface; then he grinned up at Mike, and gripped at Mike’s thigh with a hot hand. This mouth came back; cautious now, but – his lips, his tongue, his warmth –

 _Fuck!_ Mike thought. It was sloppy; Bill did not know what he was doing; his teeth nipped lightly at Mike’s sensitive flesh but the warmth and sensation was so _overwhelming._ Mike moved again; but this time he had a hand gripped in Bill’s hair; making sure that Bill moved with him. Bill’s hand flexed and tensed on Mike’s hip; eventually he got the idea to move himself, his lips on every part of Mike; Mike thought, _Am I really seeing stars, like in some erotic paperback?_ And maybe he was.

“Fuck!” he said; out-loud. God, they should’ve gone to the bedroom for this; he was too _old_ and too tired to be against the wall right now; his legs were nearly shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. Bill sucked at him; in rhythm, and Mike could only handle _that_ for maybe a minute; suddenly he was pulling at Bill’s hair.

“Bill –” he said, desperately, “Shit, I’m gonna –” Bill was half off him when he came; cum spattered down his chin.

“Fuck,” Mike said; the orgasm had taken all the energy out of him; his sank to his knees. “Bill? Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Bill just looked at him for a moment; his red lips wet and glistening. Mike cupped his face in his hands, wiping his own cum off Bill’s face the best he could. Bill’s eyes were unreadable; a little glossy.

“I’m okay,” Bill said finally. He smiled at Mike, tentatively. “That was just a little…overwhelming.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike said again. He pulled Bill close against his chest. “I should’ve – I usually –” Last longer, for one thing, but it was _Bill_ and –

Bill kissed at Mike’s clavicle; and pushed away. “Was it good?” he asked, and his voice had that low tone – he had been thrown off, sure, but Mike realized that he was still aroused, perhaps painfully so. He looked down; Bill was palming at himself through his trousers.

“Fuck, yeah it was _good_ –” Mike said. “Hey, let me –” He undid Bill’s belt and pulled it off. He reached past Bill’s waistband, and Bill shuddered against him; Mike realized suddenly that he had not yet touched Bill like this; that no man had.

“Can I --?”

“Yeah,” Bill managed. He was leaking pre-cum through his briefs. “T-t-touch me –” The stutter was not reassuring, and Mike was suddenly scared that Bill would push himself to more than he actually wanted, or could handle. He hesitated; Bill groaned, and thrust Mike’s hand against himself, rutting against him.

“Okay,” Mike said, laughing breathlessly. “Okay, Bill, I get it –” he wrapped his hand around Bill. He knew this; he could make Bill feel good. Bill mewled against his chest, and Mike pulled him close; Bill gripped at his neck and started nipping and sucking on his flesh; it was so unexpectedly stimulating that Mike could feel his exhausted body trying for arousal again.

Bill thrust into Mike’s palm; demanding sensation – Mike gripped at him, tighter; and tried to match his pace. Bill hissed and groaned; he bit hard enough against Mike’s neck to hurt; Mike gripped even harder, and Bill sighed against his neck and came in his hand.

“Christ, Bill,” Mike breathed, as Bill slumped against him. He thought his own eyes must now be at glossy and overwhelmed as Bill’s had, a moment before.

“Mikey,” Bill said, and nipped lightly at Mike’s neck again. “Shit,” he said.

“Are you okay?” Mike gripped him by the shoulders and propped him up. His face was flushed pink; but he looked present, engaged, no longer distant. “Shit, Bill, I told you that was too fast –”

Bill gently removed one of Mike’s hands from his shoulder. He brought his hand to his mouth and kissed gently at his knuckles. “I’m okay,” he said. His voice was rough. “Really. I want…I want to learn all these things…”

 _But I,_ Mike thought. _Please, don’t make me –_

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I can’t…I can’t handle hurting you.”

“We’ll talk about it _before_ we try anything else new, okay?” Bill said. “But you didn’t hurt me, Mikey, you never have.”

Mike’s heart was picking up in his chest. “But I made you leave,” he said. “Last time…”

“You tried to scare me off, yeah,” Bill said. “That made me sad, sure. But I can handle it. Mike, for God’s sake – I can handle _you_. I _want_ to.”

How could he say no to that? When it was everything that he’d ever – ever wanted? _Is it possible?_ the fear at his center asked. _Yes!_ his heart said. _Yes, say yes to him!_

“Okay,” Mike said. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Bill said, and kissed him on the mouth. He tasted like how Mike must taste.

“We do have to talk about it, though,” Mike said, pulling away, and Bill laughed helplessly, against his shoulder, as if Mike was very funny. Eventually, Mike laughed, too, he couldn’t help it.

“I’m serious!” he said, and he was – maybe he hadn’t _talked about it_ with _his_ boyfriends but he’d been a stupid twenty-something and he and Bill were adults, dammit, they didn’t have to go in blind; they didn’t have to do more than the other could handle out of desperate youthful arousal.

“Yeah,” Bill said, and cupped Mike’s face between his hands. “No, I know, Mike. We got time.”

 _Time._ The future; a new country. A new exploration. _With Bill._ Shit. That was that, huh?

He went to bed with Bill. In the morning, he woke up and went to work, and Bill stayed home to write, and then in the evening they ate together and laughed together and then they went to bed together _again._ How long would it take before it was a routine? How long before Mike accepted it? How many times would he wake with Bill’s hands on him, Bill’s body pressed against his, Bill’s soft breaths in the night? Less than a week into their relationship he woke up in the middle of the night and was surprised to find himself alone, until his brain caught up and he said aloud, “Bill?”

There was no answer, but there was soft light under his door. Mike rose, yawning a little, and wandered out the door. A lamp in his living room was flicked on, and Bill was on the couch, a blanket draped over his shoulders, reading a paperback novel.

“Bill?” he said.

Bill visibly jumped as he always seemed to when torn from concentration. “Oh! Mikey!”

“You okay?” Mike said, sleepily.

Bill smiled up at him. He was still in his pajamas, his hair still down, but his glasses were perched on his nose. It was an odd look.

“Yeah, sorry. I couldn’t sleep…I didn’t want to wake you.”

“So you came out here to read?” When Mike couldn’t sleep, he stayed in bed and let his thoughts take him.

“Well, yeah…” Bill shrugged. “It happens sometimes. I don’t always sleep easy. Audra…thinks I have nightmares. I don’t remember them, but maybe she’s right.”

“Huh,” Mike said. He moved to sit on the couch; Bill sat up and offered him half the blanket. Mike leaned up close to Bill’s shoulder. “I don’t know. I can hear you…breathing strange, sometimes. So maybe it _is_ dreaming.”

“I hope I don’t bother you with it,” Bill said. He yawned; he still seemed tired.

“I’m…not used to sharing a bed,” Mike said. _Understatement._ “It hasn’t bothered me, though. I like waking up to you.”

Bill dog-eared his page and closed the book. “D’you want me to come back to bed?”

“Only if you want to. Do you usually go back to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Bill said, softly. “I guess I stopped trying. Maybe I should, though. I’ve been sleeping pretty well, with…with you.”

“Give it a try,” Mike said. “You can always leave again if it doesn’t work. And I won’t even come fetch you.”

Bill smiled, and then pressed a kiss to the corner of Mike’s mouth. “I like that you did,” he said. “It’s sweet.”

They went back to bed together. Some time later, Mike awoke to soft motion; Bill’s hand tracing a circle on his shoulder. He rolled over to face him.

“Still couldn’t sleep?”

Bill yawned. “I did a little. And then…it was sort of nice staying in bed. I thought about my book.” He smiled; his hair had drifted over his tired eyes. “Maybe I figured some things out…I don’t know. But I’m glad you brought me back to bed.”

Mike’s heart felt very full. “Well,” he said, “You’re welcome. Even if it was just kind of selfish. I like waking up with you.” _I think maybe I’m starting to get used to it._

“Mm,” Bill said, and closed his eyes under the gentle cascade of his hair. “Me too.” He pulled the covers up over him, and curled in a little.

“Gonna give it one last go?”

“Mm,” Bill murmured again, sleepily, and Mike rolled back over, smiling into the darkness.

January turned to February and Mike _did_ get used to coming home to Bill. Sometimes Bill accompanied him to the library – Carole was likewise getting used to seeing him, it seemed, but it was slow going – but sometimes he didn’t; sometimes he wrote in Mike’s house (— _their_ house –); sometimes he wrote in the various coffee shops that had appeared in the last decades of Derry’s growth.

“Any progress?” Mike called, hanging up his coat.

Bill emerged from Mike’s office, still in pajamas and gripping a cup a coffee. “Hey, Mikey,” he said.

“Late start?”

Bill laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I distracted myself. I actually got a lot done. Sometimes it just…overtakes me, y’know? And I forget to do human things like get dressed.”

“Well, hey,” Mike said, “It’s only 5 pm, there’s still time yet.”

“Ugh,” Bill said, blushing. “Thanks for saving me from myself. I’m gonna go shower.”

Bill emerged – fully dressed and with his hair tied back – to Mike brewing more coffee. Bill took it, gratefully, and leaned in to kiss Mike gently on the lips.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Mike asked.

“Trying to get me out of the house, huh?”

“Maybe,” Mike said. “Don’t need you going stir-crazy on me.”

“I’d never,” Bill said. “And hey, sure. I got a new idea for the last chapter and I want to run it by you, anyway.”

They went out and broke bread together; and Mike listened as Bill’s soft voice crafted a story in front of him. By the time Bill finished, Mike had to swallow hard around the lump in his throat.

“Shit, Bill,” he said. “I – I really like that.”

“Thank you,” Bill said. “I like it, too.” He laughed a little. “My agent is gonna _hate_ it, though.”

“But it’s _perfect!”_

Bill shrugged. “It’s ambiguous. It’s not happy but it’s not tragic either. No one wants that in horror.”

“Well, screw them – surely Bill Denbrough has earned the right to write whatever the Hell he wants, yeah?”

Bill smirked over the rim of his cocktail glass. “You know,” he said, “I really think he has.”

Bill’s newest in-progress novel – which Mike had not actually read, but had heard plenty about – was probably not _entirely_ about Derry. But it was undeniably a novel about growing up, and Bill had grown up in Derry, and so had Mike – so he could see it. He suspected that Bill was probably right, and that the marketing crew behind him would not like the novel; it was very long, and quite melancholy, and yes – the ending of it was ambiguous. It could not easily be adapted to film, and for a horror novel it was not particularly scary. But Mike wanted very much to read it, so he was excited for Bill to finish it. If some of Bill’s novels could’ve been written by anyone, this one could’ve been done by him and him alone – and Mike loved that. He thought some of Bill’s readers would love it too – like Carole Danner, maybe.

“ _Bill,”_ Mike said, pleadingly – God he was helpless under Bill’s hands, truly, and he felt sticky with sweat where their bodies joined; Bill’s ankle kicked over his leg; both of them naked and desperate with want.

“Yeah, Mikey?” Bill panted; and he ran a teasing hand over Mike’s stomach, making Mike shiver.

“C’mon,” Mike said, “please –”

All he had to do was ask; Bill pulled in close; jerking off Mike with one hand while the other gripped tight at Mike’s shoulder, as he nipped and pulled with his teeth at the delicate skin of Mike’s neck. Bill, he was learning, liked to leave marks; make his presence known.

“Is this what you want?” Bill whispered into the curve of Mike’s neck, and Mike shuddered with it; full to brim with his own desire, and came in Bill’s hand.

Bill laughed a little, breathless, and rolled away from Mike to pleasure himself, finishing himself off quickly – he came with a little cry, and then they both lay there, chests heaving. Mike didn’t really know what to make of the fact that Bill finished himself off so often; it felt like Mike rarely got to touch him – not like _that,_ anyway. He hadn’t said anything, because he didn’t want to pressure Bill, but –

“Mikey,” Bill panted, rolling onto his side to look at him. His hair was half-loose, falling over his eyes. “I can hear you thinking.”

Mike huffed a breath.

“What? I can!”

Mike bit his lip. Maybe it was the orgasm that made him so loose-lipped, because – “Do you not want me to touch you?”

“What?”

Mike rolled onto his side, too. “I just – you always…I mean –” _Christ,_ this was embarrassing.

“What?” Bill said. His brow was furrowed in genuine confusion.

“You’re always – doing it yourself,” Mike managed. “I can touch you…if you want…”

Bill blinked at him. “Oh,” he said, vaguely. “I – that’s just habit, Mike. I’m not – I _like_ you touching me.”

Mike was not sure what that said about Bill’s past sexual relationships. He did not say that.

A slow sly smile crept up Bill’s face. “Is that what you want, Mikey? You want to touch me?”

Mike blushed, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it _is_ –”

“Aww,” Bill coo-ed, laughing. “That’s sweet.”

He grappled at Mike, suddenly, pushing at his shoulder until Mike rolled over, laughing too. Bill pressed kisses down Mike’s back, over the gentle curve of it. He pressed a hand to Mike’s ass.

“I think I _know_ what you want,” he said.

Mike shivered with it; a line running down his whole body was set alight.

“Bill,” he said, helplessly. “You don’t need to –”

“Shh,” Bill said, and kissed the curve of his lower back. “I don’t do things I don’t want to, Mikey.”

Mike groaned, every touch setting his desire back alight. He wanted every single thing Bill was offering, teasing at.

He laughed suddenly; breathless with it. "Bill - you are _so -"_

"What?" Mike could hear Bill's grin; Bill's fingers hot on Mike's sensitive skin. "What am I?"

"Bold," Mike managed.

"Ah," Bill said. He raised his head and nipped at Mike's shoulder. "Well, you bring it out in me!"

Mike laughed again a little, overwhelmed by his own sudden happiness. He closed his eyes; he let his head tilt back; he let himself feel each and every touch.

Mike got home late – well after closing; there was a build-up of unfinished tasks that had needed doing. At around 9 pm, he hung his jacket on their coat-rack.

“Bill?” he called into the stillness of his house.

“Hullo,” Bill’s voice replied. The man himself emerged from the dim lighting, a short glass filled with – presumably – whiskey, a small smile on his face.

“Heya,” Mike said. “Sorry I’m later than intended – there was a few things I wanted to get done.”

“It’s fine,” Bill said, waving an easy hand. Mike had a sneaking suspicion that the drink in his hand was not his first.

“In fact,” Bill continued, “I was pretty distracted, myself. I just got my initial feedback from my agent and editor.”

“Yeah?”

Bill grinned, toothily, in the dim light. “They hate it. They wanna change everything.”

Mike raised a skeptical brow. “Oh yeah?” He stepped forward, and pressed a brief kiss to Bill’s lips. _Yes,_ that was whiskey he tasted. “What did you say to that?”

Bill’s grin widened. “I said, fuck ‘em – I _know_ what I’m doing, Mikey.”

Mike laughed, light and easy. Bill was so good to come home to. “Hell yeah,” he said. “You’re a goddamn best-selling horror writer with several movie deals under his belt.”

Bill stepped forward, snapping Mike’s own belt against his waist. “Yes,” he said, “I am!”

“ _So,”_ Mike said, “You can do _whatever you want!_ ”

“Yes,” Bill said, his hands slipping under Mike’s shirt to press against the sensitive plane of his lower stomach, “I _can_.”

Mike’s head reeled back; his hands clutching at Bill – for a long moment; he stopped thinking about anything at all.

In March, Bill Denbrough received the honor of being Mike Hanlon’s plus one to the year’s most exclusive event – the Derry Inter-Library Half-Term Get-Together. (In actuality, it had many names; Carole and Mike both referred to it always as simply _The Fling_ , something Bill had found hilarious.) It was not the biggest or the wildest party – they were, after all, librarians – but it was fun, and Mike always enjoyed it. He had never brought a guest, because it wasn’t that sort of party. The only guests anyone brought were their spouses. So. There was that.

“You realize,” Mike said, straightening his tie, “that coming with me is, essentially, outing yourself to every librarian in Derry and her surrounding areas? I mean, not _everyone’s_ going to assume that, but a lot of them are, because a lot of them already know or suspect that _I’m_ a –”

“Mikey,” Bill said, placidly, from the foot of the bed. “Shh.” He was idly combing his hair out, his shirt half done-up. “It’s _fine._ ”

“What would your agent say?”

Bill laughed. “Fuck my agent. And no offense, Mike, but Derry librarians are not the national news.”

“One of them could go the press!”

“With what? ‘Local author seen in the physical presence of another man?’ Not exactly damning.” Bill pulled back his hair into the habitual loose ponytail. “Maybe I’ll come out,” he said, thoughtfully. “Like, properly. See what _that_ does for book sales.”

Mike head spun suddenly, dizzingly. He wished, as he often did, that he’d met Bill again earlier, when he was young and brave and when everything seemed not so dangerous. He wished it was 1975, or something.

“Well, just don’t implicate me,” he said, softly, over the nervous race of his heart. “I’m a public servant; I work with kids. I need the benefit of the doubt. Even if that’s _all_ I have.”

Bill’s expression turned melancholy. “It’s a new decade, Mikey.”

“Yeah. And the last one felt long enough.”

Bill stood, and looped his arm about Mike’s waist. “Well then, are _you_ sure you want me to come? I don’t have to.”

“I want you to come.”

“Okay,” Bill said. He kissed Mike’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No – shit, Bill, it’s not your fault. All this is just…mixed up in my head. I want you to come because we’re living together and I want you to be part of my life, every part of my life. But there’s a reason I’m not _quite_ out.”

“I get that.”

“You _don’t_.” Mike turned, so they were facing each other. “Bill, you _don’t._ I don’t mean this to be rude, I just – you _don’t,_ you haven’t lived here and you haven’t – I mean, Bill, are you gay? Are you bisexual? Do you even _know?_ ”

Bill’s lips parted; he was about to speak, and then seemed to swallow it. “I don’t know,” he said, softly. “I mean, I…” He licked his lips. “I didn’t expect this for myself, you’re right there…and…”

Mike regretted this turn of the conversation; maybe this was a discussion they needed to have, but – and it wasn’t fair how he’d thrown it at Bill like an attack. If someone had said that to _him_ when he was about twenty-one or so – Christ. But he had wanted so badly for Bill to _understand_ something of what it had meant for Mike to know that fact about himself for so long.

Mike let go of Bill’s shoulders, and sat on the bed; he pressed, hard, at his eyes. “Shit,” he said, “God, Bill.”

He was not looking, but he heard Bill walk over to him, and when he peered through his fingers Bill was kneeling in front of him.

“You’re sure _you_ wanna go to this party?” Bill said, and he set a gentle hand on Mike’s knee.

“No,” Mike said. “Not anymore.” He laughed, shakily. “I’m sorry, Bill.”

“It’s different for me,” Bill said. “Mike, you’re our – lighthouse keeper. You stayed in Derry and I didn’t – we didn’t know the entirety of what that meant…I still don’t. And maybe you’re right to ask me about myself. I don’t have any answers.”

“I don’t…I shouldn’t need them…”

“I think you want us to relate,” Bill said. “To have the same, or similar, experiences. But I don’t…I’m not you. I haven’t been what you’ve been through or felt like you’ve felt. But I’m trying to _see_ you. I’m…that’s all I c-can give…”

“It’s enough,” Mike said, and – perhaps it was?

“I love you,” Bill said, simply, and Mike gasped a small surprised breath – he realized that they had not directly said those words to each other since Bill had left Derry for that first time when they were both adults.

“I love you too, Bill,” he said, and then he took up Bill’s hand in between his own. Bill let him bring the hand to his lips; let him kiss Bill’s knuckles.

“I get scared sometimes,” Mike said. “I – yeah. That’s all I can say. My dad wouldn’t want me to be scared; I don’t _like_ being scared. But I am.”

Bill smiled sort of sadly at him. “Fear is a self-preservation instinct,” he said.

Mike smiled. “I know this is going to sound like a lie,” he said, “but I _do_ want to go to this party.”

“Alright. So we’ll go. And I won’t out _either_ of us.”

“We have a deal,” Mike said, and then he kissed Bill, on the lips. He let the kiss go long, too long, until neither of them could breathe. He broke away, and stood up. He rubbed at his eyes again.

“I’m gonna go wash my face,” he said, laughing a little, and Bill smiled at him – a more genuine smile, now; approaching happiness.

“Take your time, Mikey,” he said, his voice gentle, and Mike tried to believe that he could. Bill would wait for him, and he’d wait for Bill.

“Mr. Denbrough,” Carole said – very politely – “Are you staying in Derry for now?”

Bill glanced sidelong at Mike. “Yes,” he said to Carole. “I, uh…needed a change of pace, I guess. And what better place to get it than my hometown, right?”

“Aw, that makes sense,” she said, approvingly. “Do you have family here?”

Mike winced. _Christ._ But Bill seemed unperturbed.

“No,” he said, simply, smiling a little. “No family. Just friends.”

“Oh,” Carole said. She glanced up at Mike, perhaps wondering if she’d mis-stepped; Mike took a sip of his punch ( _spiked!_ And they said librarians didn’t know how to party!). “Friends are good. And, um –” here was the question they both had known would come, although Carole looked a little embarrassed to even be asking it – “are you working on another book?”

And at _that,_ Bill grinned like a shark. He leaned in, conspiratorially. “You may be interested to know that I, in fact, just finished one.”

Carole grinned, swept into his enthusiasm – Mike felt a great swell of fondness in his chest. “Oh?”

“Yep,” Bill said, rocking back on his heels a little. It really was cute to see him so excited. “It’s in edits, now – and it’s kind of a new direction, but I’m quite pleased with it, so far.”

“How exciting!” Carole said, genuinely grinning with it; Bill grinned back. Carole’s eyes flicked up to Mike, and then she said – catching him off guard with it – “I’m actually…um. I’m actually, trying to write something myself, you know…”

“I didn’t know you wrote,” Mike said, unable to help himself.

“Well,” she said, flushing a little. “It’s new. And…just poetry.”

Bill scoffed. “ _Just_ poetry? Poetry is one of the most lasting art forms in the world!”

Mike grinned. He let his elbow brush against Bill’s. “Poetry has sparked a lot of love stories,” he said seriously. Bill laughed, covering his mouth with one hand.

“It has,” he said, quirking his eyebrow at Mike. For once, they were thinking of their friends with a pure and simple happiness, with love and joy.

“Uh,” Carole said, blushing even redder, and Mike said hurriedly – “I’m so sorry, Carole, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Carole laughed a little, only somewhat nervously.

“Poetry is for all the important topics,” Bill said, smiling gently at her. “Romantic love is one, but there’s plenty others. I could never master poetry, but I think it’s really lovely. Maybe I’ll be reading your work eventually…?” He cocked his head at her, gently questioning.

“Oh God,” she said, laughing more genuinely now. “Oh…I’m not ready to let _anybody_ read it yet, I think. Like…how do you…” she looked at Bill keenly then, pleadingly. “How do you let people _see_ you like that?”

Bill tapped a hand to his lips, considering it genuinely. “Well, a lot of my work isn’t that personal. But some of it _is,_ and one thing that helps me is that people reading it don’t _know_ which bits are. You’re allowed to consider it all artistically…things you know about and things you don’t. But I guess in the end…as scary as it is, it can feel like a relief to have it out there.” He smiled.

“I think I’m going to feel relieved when my next book is published,” he said. “It _is_ personal, and I don’t mind you knowing that.”

Carole nodded, a little subdued – she looked overwhelmed.

“And seriously,” Bill said, “if you ever want to talk about your work, or share it – I really don’t know much about poetry, but I’d love to talk about it with you.”

“Thank you,” she said – definitely overwhelmed now. “Wow, that’s – you don’t have to.”

“Well, I want to,” Bill said, and there was the solidness that Mike recognized; his ‘no arguments’ tone of voice.

“That means a lot,” Carole said. “And – does that mean you’ll be living in Derry for a while?”

“Oh,” Bill said, as if hadn’t occurred to him that that was not obvious. “Yeah. I’m, uh, here to stay, I think.” He grinned, flicking his eyes to Mike’s gaze.

“I look forward to seeing you around,” Carole said, smiling at them both. “And it’s really good to see you doing well, Mr. Hanlon.”

“Thanks, Carole. I hope you pursue your writing.”

“I really think I will,” Carole said. “It’s been…fun. I mean, hard, but…it’s worth it.”

They all made their polite goodbyes, and Carole disengaged to talk to one of the other young aides from the high school library.

Mike took Bill by the elbow – gently, and he hoped not too obviously – and steered him towards the long table set with snacks. He watched Bill collect a small plate of vegetables and said, “That was nice of you, with Carole.”

Bill shrugged. “I wish someone had encouraged _me_ a bit, when I was that age. Instead all my professors were about to strangle me for making them read trashy horror stories.”

Mike laughed. “I’m sure they weren’t that bad.”

“I hope so, ‘cause I’m not confident I ever got much better…”

“Oh, come on,” Mike said, laughing. “ _The Glowing_ was written by a kid, you’d grown a lot even by _Gnaw._ ”

Bill turned bodily towards Mike. He smiled, his teeth peeking through. “Sometimes I forget you’ve read my stuff. Like, _really_ read it.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“’Things to do in Derry when you’re bored: Read Bill Denbrough’s horror novels.’”

“Well, yeah!”

Bill laughed, and they were so close that Mike almost forgot where they were, until: “Michael Hanlon, is that you?”

It was Mrs. Scarborough; the kind but somewhat oblivious older woman who occasionally tried to introduce Mike to single women. Mike found himself moving, instinctively, away from Bill – then he felt odd and guilty, but it was too late to move back –

“Hi, Mrs. Scarborough,” he said, “Long time no see.” He stepped ever-so-slightly closer to Bill. Bill nodded at her, smiling. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know me, fine as always,” she waved a dismissive hand at the question. “But who’s this?”

“This is my friend, Bill Denbrough. He grew up here, actually, and just recently moved back.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Bill said, and Mrs. Scarborough shook his hand energetically.

“Oh, aren’t you handsome!” she said, patting a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “I have an eligible daughter, you know…” Mike grimaced behind one hand.

“As wonderful as I’m sure she is,” Bill said, “I’m sure she can do better than a recent divorcee.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” Mrs. Scarborough said, frowning in sympathy. She moved the conversation to library talk, and wandered off quicker than conversations with her usually went.

“Shit, Bill,” Mike said, when she left. “I shoulda claimed divorce too, maybe she’d actually leave me alone.”

Bill laughed. “Is she always that…forward?”

“I’ve literally had dinner with her daughter.”

“How’d that go?”

“Her daughter absolutely knew about my…preferences, and it was extremely awkward the whole time.”

Bill laughed again. “Poor Mikey! Let’s get you another drink.”

Mike was pleasantly buzzed soon enough, which was a help as he introduced Bill to various librarians, library workers, and teachers. Some people had set up card games on a little table, but plenty others were still just chatting and eating. Even with the buzz, Mike felt a little too restless, a little too on-edge, to consider playing – but making the rounds was getting exhausting, too. _Dummy up, Mike,_ he kept telling himself, but it didn’t work as well when he didn’t hear it in Bill’s voice.

It was only after maybe the fourth or fifth time that Bill was asked if he had any family in Derry that Mike saw it – a slight facial twitch, revealing some small pain. He frowned into his punch. Time to execute a daring escape.

His escape plan turned out to just be dragging Bill into the staff bathroom. “You wanna head out?” he said. “Escape the interrogation?”

Bill smiled at him like he knew what he was doing. “I’m okay, Mikey. It’s a natural question to ask.”

“Yeah, it is. We can still leave, though.”

“Do _you_ want to leave?”

To tell the truth, Mike did – he was glad he came, and he was even glad he’d brought Bill, even if people were going to make assumptions now (well, their assumptions were _correct_ —) But this was tiring, for himself as well as for Bill.

He cupped his hands around Bill’s elbows, ignoring that anyone could walk in at any minute. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. I’m – glad we came. But.”

“I know,” Bill said, and then darted forward to press a brief chaste kiss to Mike’s lips.

“Brave,” Mike said,

“I try,” Bill said. “Okay. You wanna say your good-byes?”

He did, but only to Carole. After telling her he’d see her on Monday, he wandered back to where Bill was waiting, and steered him the right direction via elbow again. He saw Patterson, one of the high school librarians, glance their way before turning to a friend, and winced.

“Who was that guy giving you a dirty look?” Bill asked, when they reemerged into the night air. He was only wearing a jacket, and shivered a bit.

“That’s Jack Patterson. He doesn’t like me, because he’s guessed I’m gay. He saw me coming out of the Falcon once, actually.” _That_ had been a scary moment. He glanced over at Bill. “So now he’s not gonna like you, either.”

“Ah,” Bill said.

“I’m sure you can’t handle the distaste of a high school librarian,” Mike said, trying to joke around the fear that had risen; and the anger – the anger that this man who didn’t even _know_ Bill already hated him, simply because Mike had dared touch Bill’s arm.

“Mm,” Bill said. “Guess that’s one sale I won’t be getting.”

“How will it be a best-seller now?”

Bill laughed, and he reached over, squeezing Mike’s forearm lightly.

“It’s okay, Mikey,” he said softly. “We’re okay. Look, we made it out alive.”

And so they had. Mike just nodded, and Bill drove them home, where they could kiss each other, touch each other, hold each other; the rest of the world be damned.

Bill’s newest novel was released in April. Bill had refused all edits that were not grammatical, and was fantastically smug about the whole affair. On the day of wide release, Mike bought several library copies and constructed another ‘local author’ display with them quite prominently displayed. Bill was there too, and laughed.

“You’re gonna single-handedly save my failing career,” he said.

“Hey, it hasn’t _failed_ yet,” Mike said, although _1/5/72_ was Bill’s first book since his earliest novels to not debut at number one.

Bill leaned back on his arms. “I’ve made enough money,” he said. “I just want people to read it.”

“Carole will,” Mike said, as the young woman in question walked in for the start of her shift. “Right, Carole?”

“Mr. Hanlon?”

“You’ll read Bill’s new book, right?”

Carole grinned – she was no longer shy around Bill, which was great – and opened her messenger bag to produce a shiny new hardback of the book. “Of course I will,” she laughed. “Hey, will you sign it for me, Mr. Denbrough?”

Bill covered his face with his hands, and Mike laughed. He got one of those intense spikes of fondness for the both of them, and their budding friendship-slash-mentorship – Carole had been staying past her shifts recently, to write. It was sweet.

That night, after Bill had long since gone home, Carole came up to him, a little shy.

“What’s up?”

“I – have something. For you and Mr. Denbrough,” she said. She handed him an envelope. “It’s one of my poems…”

“Aw, that’s excellent, Carole. Bill’s gonna be excited.”

She blushed. “It’s really rough. I’m still learning.”

Mike cocked an eyebrow at her. “Have you read any of Bill’s first short stories?”

“Uh – I don’t think so, no.”

“You’re not missing out on any masterpieces,” Mike said, grinning. “All I’m saying is we all start somewhere. I can’t wait to see your work.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hanlon,” she said, with a genuine and sweet swell of emotion in her voice.

“Good-night, Carole; you get home safe.” She nodded, and then was gone into the night.

Mike hung up his coat. “Bill?” he called.

“In here!”

He wandered into the living room; Bill was watching television with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a beer in his hand.

Mike proffered the envelope to him. “I've got something for you.”

Bill took it, muting the volume on the TV. “What is it?”

“A poem. By Carole Danner.”

Bill raised wide eyes at him. “Shit, really? Aw, that’s great!” He slid a finger into the envelope, pulling out the carefully typed sheets inside. He unfolded the top one, and slid his glasses back down off his forehead to read it.

“Oh,” he said softly. “I think this bit’s for you, Mikey.”

He passed it over, and Mike read it carefully.

 _Mr. Hanlon,_ the note read, in Carole’s neat handwriting, _I just wanted to thank you for always being so supportive. I’ve always really respected you and it’s been really good seeing you happy. I’m glad you have someone. It makes me think that even in Derry, I don’t have to be alone._

She had signed it with a lovely looping signature. Mike swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Wow,” he said. He sat down beside Bill. Bill slid an arm around his waist, and stayed like that, holding onto Mike by his belt-loop.

“Did you know she was gay?”

Mike licked his lips. “I didn’t _know,_ but I…suspected.”

Bill smiled at him, and kissed the side of his mouth. “It’s probably really special for her, that you’re her boss and her friend.”

“I’m just the town librarian,” Mike said.

“’It makes me think that even in Derry, I don’t have to be alone,’” Bill quoted. “That’s not nothing, Mikey.”

Mike leaned his head into the crook of Bill’s neck. Bill raised a hand to press at Mike’s hair, massaging his temple where the gray remained. It was true: that was _not_ nothing. He hadn’t thought about it, but – oh, how _gorgeous_ ; that he could do for Carole what The Falcon had done for him.

“Well,” Mike said eventually, “you’re part of that, too. I…thought I _would_ be alone.”

Bill’s fingers pressed softly at the curve of Mike’s cheek. “Someone woulda snatched you up eventually, Mikey. You’re too good to miss.”

“Flatterer.”

“Mm,” Bill said. “Well, I’m glad it was me that got you first.”

 _I have been practically in love with you since we were eleven years old_ , Mike thought. He was very nearly crying.

“I’m glad, too,” he said, closing his eyes against Bill’s touch. He breathed deep, in-and-out.

“ _I enter into your room but you are not there / I tread very softly upon the stair.”_

“What was that?”

“The beginning of Carole’s poem. Do you want to hear the rest?”

“Yeah.”

Bill read it, soft and slow; Mike listened with his eyes closed; he let the words drift over him, conjuring images behind his eyelids. Carole carried him away; he let her. It was decent, solid, writing. It made Mike feel young.

He opened his eyes. “She’s twenty-two years old,” he said. “Carole.”

“Christ,” Bill said. “Remember being that young, Mikey?”

“Barely.”

“I wish I knew you, then. I wish I didn’t forget.” 

“I was a god-damn mess at twenty-two, Bill.”

“Me too. That’s when I wrote my first novel.”

“Explains some things…”

“Hey –”

“I’m kidding, Bill.” He pulled Bill up off the sofa and Bill went easily, straddling over his legs. “Your first novel was _very mature._ ”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bill said, and kissed him.

1972 – the year Bill’s new book was set. _If I met you then, would this have happened? Could we have come together like this?_ Mike did not know. It was impossible to know. He wrapped his arms about Bill’s neck, and kissed him again, open-mouthed – wanting and receiving.

Bill’s novel made it to #15 on the New York Times bestseller list for one whole week. Mike took him out to dinner.

“It’s fine,” Bill said. “I feel like, now I _know_ this one’s all mine; no – Derry magic. Or whatever the Hell it was that let all of us get so rich.”

“Even if it means no movie deal?”

Bill clinked his wine glass against Mike’s and took a long sip. “I think I’ve met enough Hollywood women, you know?”

“Good, because I couldn’t compete against them.”

“Mm,” Bill said, and Mike was amused to note that he was blushing a little. “W-well. You did.”

“Bill!”

“I’m not—” Bill was _really_ flushed pink. “I wouldn’t have cheated on Audra. But. I n-noticed you.”

“Oh my God, Bill Denbrough,” Mike said, and he couldn’t help it, he laughed. “You wanted to turn me into a homewrecker.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Bill said, and hid his face in his hands until Mike managed to stop laughing.

It’s not that things were always easy, or always soft. But living with Bill became _reliable,_ and it felt – it felt healing. Mike came home every day to him, and it felt a little like when he was young, before his dad died; how he could always come home to his parents, and they would always love him, no matter what. He was safe again in the same way. Bill had left three times and three times he had come back; even though twice Mike had not asked him to; even though once Mike had tried to scare him away. He had no word for what that was other than ‘love.’ And what else could you call sharing a bed; sharing a kitchen; sharing a life? Shaving beside each other even though the bathroom was too small for it; going out for dinner once a week and splitting a bottle of nice wine; sleeping late on the weekends and having slow, lazy sex in Mike’s no-longer-lonely bed. Sometimes Mike felt so happy he thought his heart would burst, but it kept on beating. And Bill would look at him sometimes; with this sweet shy smile, and Mike thought maybe that meant he felt the same.

_1/5/72_ didn’t get amazing reviews or amazing sales; but that didn’t mean that no one liked it. In fact, quite a few people did. There was one particular review, published in a gay magazine out of Portland, that was written by a young man called Adrian Mellon. Mellon had rated the novel 4 out of 5 stars, and written an impassioned review that – Mike knew – had made Bill cry when he first read it. A magazine clipping of the final paragraphs hung on their refrigerator for quite some time. 

_Growing up in a place like that, feeling like that...I_ know _it. And probably so do you, dear reader. It makes you feel like you’ll always be alone. More than that: you not only_ will _be alone, you_ should _be alone...your solitude and your suffering seem as natural as a cat killing a mouse. And it feels as painful...or it would, if you let yourself feel connected enough to feel the pierce of it. Stay afloat, you tell yourself, because one day we’ll be free...but even if you leave and you run you may never escape your own loneliness, which merely reinforces your belief that it is innate. You are broken inside, and everyone can see it._ That _is the story at the heart of this novel, and it’s why a pulpy horror novel made me weep like the greatest of Shakespeare’s tragedies._

 _I’ve never seen the appeal of Denbrough’s work before, beyond the obvious titillation of your average gore-fest – but he’s got me now. Feelings this deep and this overwhelming have to be blown up across the page to let you make sense of them; the bloody horror dramatics make this everyday fear seem as terrifying as it is. This is the best portrayal of growing up gay I’ve ever read, and it doesn’t have a single homosexual character in the whole damn thing. This one might not make it to the big screen – I’m guessing it won’t, to be honest – but dammit, it’s_ good. _It’s good and it’s_ real. _Isn’t that enough?_

“Good morning,” Bill said, his voice still rough with sleep. Mike rolled over to face him. Bill’s eyes were half-lidded, but he could still see the blue of them.

“Hey,” he said. It was Sunday. Neither of them had any plans. It felt luxurious; lucky; like a blessing from Heaven. He had slept soundly and long. Bill blinked heavy eyelids at him.

“You wanna go back to sleep?” Mike ran a thumb over Bill’s chin.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Bill said, and he curled close to Mike’s chest. Mike tucked Bill’s head into his shoulder, rubbing circles into his back. That touch came so easy rarely amazed him anymore, but it _did_ still delight him. He raised his own sleep-hazy eyes to the window and to the rays of light coming in through his cheap blinds; Spring was warming up, and with that warmth came a renewal of all life. Already, Mike could hear little animals and insects chirping and calling and chattering; he closed his eyes to listen to their talk.

Bill’s breath was slow and steady against his chest. Mike thought he’d fallen asleep again, when suddenly Bill said, “Are you gonna keep your promise, Mikey?”

“Hm?” Mike said, idly. He kissed the top of Bill’s head.

“Your promise,” Bill said, into Mike’s shoulder. He’d slung an arm over Mike’s hip and Mike cherished the protective weight of it. “I finished my book…now you have to write a history of Derry.”

Mike laughed; shifting his hand from Bill’s back to his neck, playing with his hair. “Shit, you remember that?”

“I’d never forget a promise to you, Mikey,” Bill said, sweetly; Mike could feel the cheeky-smug curve of his smile.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Mike said. He yawned. “Hey, I’ll make you a deal…”

“Yeah?”

“Let me get up, make us some coffee, and then you can help me figure out where to start. Okay, Mr. Novelist?”

Bill was still tucked fully against him; his ankles tangled around Mike’s legs. “I wanna shower before we do anything.”

“Huh,” Mike said. “I do too, actually. What a conundrum.”

“I wonder,” Bill said, that smile certainly curving on his face again, “if your shower is big enough to fit two grown men at once…?”

“I guess we could try and find out…”

Bill emerged, finally, from the blankets. “It’s the only solution,” he said, intently, and then he grinned, and kissed Mike on the mouth. Mike grinned back; helpless, and threw the covers off of both of them.

The shower _wasn’t_ really big enough for the two of them, but if they kept pretty close and got a little creative, they could make it work. Mike stirred cream into his coffee, and watched Bill sorting through his various notes and papers.

Looking at the history of Derry again perhaps should’ve made him sad or upset – God knows it’d taken him to some dark places to learn much of it – but perhaps it was the approaching warmth or the soft light or just Bill’s presence, because, well, it didn’t. Sure, there was a melancholy to it; a whole lot of tragedy; but among those things was also hope and perseverance, like a weed growing in concrete. Maybe that little seedling would even flower, one day. He’d thought once upon a time that he was doomed to live a tragedy himself, but it turns out he wasn’t; it turned out, apparently, that you could lose people, and be treated unfairly, and be lonely, and push people away – and then you could have them back, sometimes. His parents had chosen to be part of the tapestry of this town, and Mike was choosing that too…and Bill was choosing it with him.

Mike shut his eyes, and pictured his name on the cover of a book. That wasn’t so bad. That wasn’t so bad at all.

“What’re you thinking so much about, Mikey?”

Mike opened his eyes; Bill was smiling at him over a pile of hand-scribbled interviews.

“The story of Derry,” Mike said. “What do you think? Will it have a happy ending?”

Bill cocked his head to one side, considering. “Too soon to tell, I think,” he said. “But as crazy as it sounds – it just might. I really think it _might._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And then they lived happily ever after, in their way._ Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! 1990 Bike rights!!
> 
> Note: The title of this piece is inspired by a line in 'Baby I Need Your Loving' by the Four Tops. The chapter titles are two lines from 'We Must Be in Love' by The Impressions. Yes, I listened to a _lot_ of soul music while writing this!   
> 


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